Save Me Grace
by Vita Fidens
Summary: WARNING - non-consensual, violent sex. A/U - Molly Parker is the daughter of a no-good drunkard who owes a debt to a bare-knuckle boxing promoter. When his men are sent to collect, a chain of events begins to unfold that will tangle the lives of everyone involved in twisted ways and change them forever. **REPOST OF STORY PREVIOUSLY WRITTEN**
1. Chapter 1

Being stared at in the street was nothing new for Molly Parker.

When you're the daughter of the town drunk; a no-good louse who would sell his own mother for a pint…well, you became accustomed to people watching your every move. You became accustomed to people speaking in hushed tones as you passed by them.

Squaring her shoulders, Molly continued forward bravely – although her pace picked up slightly. 'Stop being a silly goose, Molly,' she admonished herself. 'This is nothing out of the ordinary for you.' All the same, she glanced back to see that the three men who had started following her outside the general store were still behind her.

They were at a respectable distance, to be sure, but certainly still following. The flesh on the back of her neck began to crawl uncomfortably, and Molly had the sudden notion that this wasn't the usual brand of 'stare at the drunkard's daughter.' Something about these men, and how quiet they were being, felt incredibly off.

Her sense of unease only grew when she turned down the dirt road that led to her home. She knew all her neighbors, and these men certainly weren't a part of her neighborhood. Yet, they persisted in their pursuit.

Her mind began racing, and she started to consider her options. She could confront them, which would likely end in disaster. She could continue on her way home and see if they tried to gain access. She could go to a neighbor's and ask them to continue walking her home, and perhaps check the house for anything amiss when they arrived. However, by the time they set out, the men would more than likely be gone and she'd once again be subjected to gossip and scrutiny – not that it was anything new to her, but she did prefer not to call attention to herself.

Home was her best option. She hurried along, hoping that there would be more distance between her and the men – but when she mustered up the courage to glance back, they were closer than before.

A terrible gnawing sensation started in the pit of her stomach. She suspected that these men were meant for her, although she couldn't even begin to fathom why. She'd heard of random acts of violence occurring in surrounding areas, but surely that wouldn't happen to her?

She rounded the corner and caught sight of her home, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding whistling past her lips. Only a few more moments, and she thought she would be safe.

Dean Ambrose watched the young girl pick up her pace yet again, and a small smile touched his mouth.

She knew that they were following her.

Thankfully, they had intended to be noticed this evening.

His…'employer' didn't take kindly to men ducking their financial responsibilities, and Thomas Parker was one of the worst offenders. If they scared his little lamb, perhaps he'd realize the gravity of the situation and pay up.

Personally, Ambrose could care less what the man did. In fact, he hoped that Parker continued ducking Mr. Barrett. Perhaps then his next errand wouldn't simply be about intimidation. Perhaps it would be a bit more enjoyably violent.

There had been a distinct lack of violence since he had arrived in London, and it was starting to wear on him. He'd left the states rather abruptly a year ago following his involvement in a bit of an unpleasant situation. He had managed to work his way into the bareknuckle fighting rings he'd sought out, but even that wasn't enough to satiate his appetite for pain – both giving and receiving.

At the thought of this less than desirable state of affairs, he felt his fists clenching beside his thighs and forcefully made the conscious effort to relax them. He mustn't get lost in his anger. He mustn't get carried away.

Not yet.

* * *

Wade Barrett sighed heavily, rubbing his hand against his forehead while the numbers in the book swam in front of his eyes.

He wished, for the millionth time, that he'd never gotten into the business of bookmaking.

It had seemed to be a logical enough progression. He was getting older, and his years of fighting had taken a nasty toll on his body. It seemed as if he awoke each morning with a new ache somewhere, and he was just barely in his thirties – far too young to have such complaints.

Unlike the men he often fought, who often declared that they would die inside of the ring, Barrett had elected to use his head. He turned his not-inconsiderable brain power to the notion of how he could live a more comfortable life without getting pummeled all the time.

After much consideration, he realized that he shouldn't be running from his bareknuckle past in order to make a new life – he should, instead, embrace it. After all, he was still ingrained enough into the rings that he could give carefully calculated odds. More often than not, these odds went handily in his favor. His reputation was such that he would be able to frighten his clients into paying him as necessary.

At least, that was what he had thought at the time he'd opened his books.

He tried, and failed, to keep his thoughts from turning to Tom Parker, the stupid old drunk who had been the bane of his existence these last few months. If all went according to plan this evening, that would be one thorn in his side he'd be rid of by the time the new day dawned.

He found himself glancing at the clock on the wall and wondering if he had made the right choice in sending Ambrose. The man was cold and would not be swayed by emotional appeals, but he could also be ruthless if something triggered his temper.

Wade would never admit this aloud, but on those occasions where Ambrose became violent…he feared him. The man was quite obviously a bit unhinged, and his propensity for and enjoyment of violence made him deadly. Not simply dangerous, but deadly.

Thankfully, he'd had the foresight to send along two of his best, McIntyre and O'Shaunessy. They would be able, most likely, to keep Ambrose in check and return with some form of payment, hopefully with minimal collateral damage done. But as he sat contemplating these things, Wade had a sinking feeling in his stomach that this would not be the way the story ended. Not with Ambrose involved; things were never that simple when he was around.

He found himself wearily massaging his temples. Remove one thorn, and another sprung into its place immediately. He tried to dismiss these thoughts; they would be a worry for another day in the not-terribly-distant future.

He simply hoped that everything ran along smoothly this evening and allowed him to put it off for just a bit longer.

* * *

Ambrose slowly continued on the path leading up to the gate of the Parker household before casually leaning on it and staring up. He watched a curtain flicker and couldn't suppress a smile.

The little lamb realized there was a wolf nearby.

Unable to resist, he quickly searched the annals of his memory and came up with the girl's name.

"Molly," he called in a sing-song voice. "Pretty little Molly, why are you hiding?"

Upstairs, Molly Parker pressed herself against the wall beside the window, mentally cursing. She simply _had_ to see if they were still there a mere twenty seconds after she'd walked in the door. Stupid.

She glanced towards the stairs, hoping that the man's voice had awoken her father, but she heard no stirring. He'd been dead drunk, passed out on the sofa, when she'd arrived.

How helpful. Not that she'd expected anything different.

"Come on out and speak with me, Molly love," the man outside continued. She thought she could hear amusement in his flat voice, which was peppered with an accent she couldn't quite place. "I'm not going to harm you."

She didn't believe that statement for a moment.

The man gave an exaggerated sigh. "All right, Molly. If you won't come _out_ , I'll just need to come _in_."

Ambrose hopped the gate with ease, unable to keep the smile from blooming on his face. His night had just become filled with infinite possibility, and the prospect excited him.

"No, Ambrose," the Scot said. "You know what we're here for, and it's not this. Get back out here."

He paused in his stroll towards the front door, the smile dropping from his lips and unfathomable anger welling up in his chest. He closed his eyes, twitching his head in a short 'no' motion before regaining his composure and turning back towards the two oafs that had accompanied him.

"We're here to intimidate. How can we do that from outside?" He asked, attempting to keep his voice controlled.

"We don't even know if he's in there," the Irishman said. "Drew's right. Come back this side of the gate."

He stood a moment, considering, before turning back and darting up to the window. To his absolute, unabashed joy, he could see Parker through the drapes, laid out on the sofa.

"He's in there," he announced gleefully. "Shall I ring the bell?"

The two other men shared an uncomfortable look. They knew that they had come here with the purpose of extracting money from Tom Parker – without violence – and that they should continue. However, the way Ambrose had begun acting made them fear that they wouldn't leave this place peacefully.

They were torn between their duty and their sense of morality when Ambrose tired of waiting and made the decision for them, pulling the cord to ring the bell.

Molly held her breath, unable to believe that they had such gall. She'd heard their conversation and while she understood little of it, she understood enough to know that her sod of a father had managed to make a mess of things yet again.

She heard him stirring now, grumbling at all the noise.

For one of the few times in her young life, she became angry enough at him to let him take his lumps. She remained upstairs while they rang the bell again, and then began pounding on the door.

"What?" Her father finally barked, accompanied by loud crashes that meant he was attempting to find his feet. "What do you want?"

"Let us in, Parker."

She heard the door being unlatched and opened, and footsteps immediately rushing in. She heard the hard thud of flesh on flesh, and her father cry out. Although she knew he deserved whatever was coming his way, she couldn't help but wince at the sound.

"We're here for Mr. Barrett's money," one of the men explained quietly. He sounded Irish. "You know you can't duck him forever, Tom."

"Got no money," her father replied, sounding sullen around his slurred words. "Take whatever you can find. I don't care."

Ambrose, who had been hoping to hear that, smiled as he flexed his fingers open and closed. He'd hit the man harder than he'd intended, but it felt good.

The other men glanced at him uneasily, but he didn't care. He immediately made his way up the stairs, looking for little miss Molly. His blood was up, and he found that he was angered by her lack of obedience. He had told her to let him in, and she simply hadn't done it. It wasn't a course of action she'd soon repeat once he…explained…to her the seriousness of her insubordination.

After he bounded up the stairs, he slowed and searched the area critically. Three doors led off of the hallway, and only one of them was shut. He grinned.

Making his way to the door, he very lightly ran his fingernails over the wood. "Molly," he called through the door, attempting to fill his voice with kindness. "One last chance, love. Come out here…or I'll have to come in."

He grinned wickedly when nary a peep came from the room beyond the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly froze on her bed, terrified. The men had come for her father, not her – why was this man persisting in his pursuit?

The doorknob rattled, and she slid herself back on the bed. Almost as quickly as it started, it stopped.

The man sighed. "Come on now, Molly May. I'm in no mood. Let me in like a good girl." The knob rattled again. "Or I will break this door down and you will beg for mercy."

In a swift moment of decisiveness, she stood and strode across the room. Hesitating only a second, she threw the door open.

The man grinning back at her wasn't at all what she pictured. He looked almost normal for a monster, although he was incomprehensibly tall and quite obviously very strong, judging from the way the fabric of his shirt strained against his arms.

"Miss Molly," he said after a moment of silence, giving her an exaggerated bow. "Such a pleasure to see you from the front."

"What do you want?" She asked, trying to sound brave. The rattle in her voice gave her away as a coward, and the way his smile widened she knew that he'd noticed.

He stepped towards her, and she immediately stepped back. His blue eyes began to dance happily, and his lips split open in a ghastly approximation of a smile. "Why, I want to come in," he said, stepping towards her again.

She tried to stand her ground. "Why?"

He laughed, although there was no joy in the sound. "You ask an awful lot of questions. Haven't you learned that a good woman keeps her mouth shut when a man wants something?"

Ambrose watched her nostrils flare with unexpressed anger, but she snapped her jaw shut all the same. Smart girl.

He made a show of stepping around her and entering her space casually, as if it belonged to him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see her profile outlined against the door. How a drunken fool like Tom Parker had managed to have such a pretty girl was unfathomable to him.

She turned her head away uncomfortably, and he realized that she was very aware of his eyes on her.

"You seem out of sorts," he said, turning his head away and studying her room. Not that there was much to look at; the place was barren, devoid of any personality. Disappointing.

She was quiet for several moments, and he turned back towards her and raised an eyebrow.

"It has been an odd evening," she finally replied.

He managed a dry laugh. "Yes, I suppose it has been for you." He took a few steps towards her. "As much as I'm enjoying chatting with you, dear, I must be about my business." He paused. "Do you have anything of value that I might bring back to my employer to pay your father's debt?"

She shook her head, but refused to meet his eyes. He stepped closer to her, leaving little space between them. She smelled like cinnamon.

"I must insist on the truth," he said slowly, bringing his hand to her chin to gently turn her face towards him.

"I have nothing," she replied, her deep brown eyes finally meeting his.

His lips twitched. "That _is_ a shame." In the brief moment of silence that followed, he made a decision that would alter her life forever.

Moving with frightening speed, he wrapped his hands around her waist and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. The girl cried out, and he waited to see if she would struggle. She did not.

"Seeing as you're the only thing of value in this house, Miss Molly, I would be remiss to not bring you back to my employer."

* * *

She started kicking at him halfway down the stairs, causing him to nearly lose his balance. He wrapped his arm around her waist more tightly and used his other arm to still her legs.

"Stop," he said simply, squeezing her forcefully before continuing his descent.

He reveled in the horror on the faces of his companions and did his best to maintain an even expression in spite of his amusement. "This is all I could find that was worthwhile," he said, making a show of jostling Molly on his shoulder. "Think Mr. Barrett will write off the drunken lout's debt in exchange?"

"Put that girl down," the Irishman said, attempting to sound authoritative.

"No," Ambrose replied, inwardly rolling his eyes at the other man's tone. "We were told by Mr. Parker to take what we could find. I found this pretty little thing, and I'll be taking her."

Molly looked to the Irishman, the one who had spoken against the lunatic, and tried to plead with him with her eyes. He sighed heavily and took a step forward, reaching for her hand to help her down. But surprisingly, this course of action was interrupted by her father.

"Man's right; Molly's fair game. Take her. Tell Barrett I'm done with him, and that now we're squared up as far as I'm concerned."

She felt profound anger swell up in her chest. "You useless sod," she growled, struggling against the man holding her. He tightened his grip momentarily, until he understood that she wasn't after him this time. Finally, he let her slide down his body to catch her feet.

He held her briefly around the waist, a small half-smile on his lips, before he released her.

She very slowly walked towards where her father stood, weaving on his feet. "I've taken care of you for years," she said in a low voice. "I've sacrificed my life to try and keep you from drinking yourself to the grave. I've sacrificed my chance at happiness to care for you, and this is how you elect to repay me?" Her hand reached out and slapped him swiftly against his mouth.

"I'll go to this Mr. Barrett," she continued, fierce joy rushing in her as she watched his face turn to shock and pain from her sudden attack. "Any other life is better than the one you have given me here."

She spun on her heel and quickly walked out the front door, fighting back tears of anger and betrayal.

Ambrose watched her go, resisting the temptation to rush after her immediately and shove her to the ground, lift her skirt, and take her on the front lawn in front of God and this shithole neighborhood of London. He thought of her body pressing against his as she found her feet; that electric moment where their eyes met and he knew that she felt the same wave of lust that he had. She may not know it yet, but in that moment _he_ knew that she wanted him.

If he gave in to his desire, however, Mr. Barrett would indeed be unhappy with him. It would have to wait.

It would not, however, have to wait much longer. He promised himself that much as he strode out into the night after his prize.

* * *

Wade glanced up at the clock, his brow crinkling into a thoughtful expression.

This process was taking entirely too long. They should have been back by now.

He resigned himself to the idea that something had gone wrong, and it had more than likely gone wrong at the hands of Dean Ambrose. His lip curled in an expression of distaste and he cursed softly under his breath. It had been a mistake to send him, and he'd known that – yet he'd chosen to ignore that gnawing instinct in his stomach and send the man.

He steeled himself for the worst possible news – Tom Parker was dead. He'd mouthed off at the wrong moment and Ambrose had simply winked him out of existence. Anything he heard below that horrific outcome would seem tame.

Despite his best efforts at preparing for the worst, he was still shocked when a triumphant Dean Ambrose led in a terrified-looking young girl with McIntyre and O'Shaunessy slinking behind them, obviously displeased with whatever this situation was.

Wade raised an eyebrow at Dean. "What is this?"

"Parker didn't have any money. He said to take anything of value. Allow me to introduce the only thing worth shit in his entire home, Molly Parker."

He studied the girl – she was pretty; long chestnut-colored hair and clear, pale skin with the slightest hint of ruddiness on her cheeks and lips. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only intensified.

"What am I supposed to do with a girl?" He asked Ambrose, who snorted derisively.

"If you have to ask, I feel sorry for your wife."

Wade glowered at him. "My wife is the reason I have no use for her," he snapped. "You'd best watch your tongue, Mr. Ambrose, or you might find yourself in a dire situation."

Ambrose didn't apologize – not that he'd expected him to – but he did shut his mouth.

"Ms. Parker," he said, attempting to be congenial, "I'm terribly sorry for this inconvenience. I'll have Mr. O'Shaunessy escort you home immediately."

He nodded back to Sheamus, who stepped forward and lightly took the girl's elbow, in spite of the furious glance Ambrose shot him. To Wade's great surprise, the girl stepped forward instead.

"Sir, might we have a private word?"

He attempted to keep his face smooth to conceal his interest as he waved the other men off. When the door to his study shut behind them, he offered her a chair.

"I don't want to return," she said boldly. "My father was willing to sell me off to pay his – I gather not inconsiderable – debt to you. I can work towards paying it off."

"Ms. Parker, I have no use for you," he said gently, watching her eyes fill with fear. "I'm afraid the only use I'd have would be to sell you to a brothel to attempt to recoup some of my losses, and I certainly don't wish to send you to that kind of life."

She glanced away briefly, biting her lip. He was shocked to see that she was considering that course of action. Things in her home must truly be horrific, he realized. He closed his eyes. Goddamnit. He couldn't send her back to that. Goddamn Ambrose for putting him into this situation.

"Can you cook?" He asked abruptly.

She looked back towards him. "Yes."

"Clean?" She nodded. "Sew?" She again nodded. He sat, tapping a long finger against his thigh before he finally sighed.

"You may stay and work in my home," he finally said, knowing that his wife would be most pleased – she had been nagging him to procure maid services for some time now. "You will perform household duties, and part of your pay will go towards paying down your father's debt to me. The other portion will be placed in an account for you to use when you leave my employ."

She blinked rapidly several times, and he could see she was fighting back tears. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me," he said dryly. "Thank Mr. Ambrose."


	3. Chapter 3

Molly could hardly believe her luck as Mr. Barrett escorted her towards a small bedroom in the back of the house. She clutched the linens he'd given her tightly, astounded at how soft they felt in her arms.

"There will, of course, be other duties you'll be expected to perform," she realized Mr. Barrett was saying and immediately began paying attention. "Would you be at all averse to learning how to patch up some common injuries?"

She shook her head quickly. If he'd asked her to bring down the moon, she would find a way.

"We keep odd hours usually, so you'll need to be prepared to be woken and start working very quickly. Respect my home and my wishes, and I'll respect you." He glanced back at her. "None of the men are allowed to touch you, do you hear me?" She nodded. "Don't let them give you any lines about how it's their right or privilege or any such nonsense, because it's not. Not unless you want it to be – in which case, it's none of my business. But if someone is bothering you, I should hear about it."

The girl nodded at him, and Wade realized he was probably rambling incomprehensibly. He'd seen the way that Ambrose had looked at her and wanted to nip that particular problem in the bud. He couldn't touch her, not unless she wanted him to do so. Gauging her reaction to him, he gathered that she didn't.

"You'll give her a bad notion of us, Mr. Barrett," Ambrose said from behind him. He turned to see the younger man leaning casually against the door to his kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.

Wade stared him down for a few moments. " _Most_ of the men are very well-behaved," he said carefully to Molly, although his eyes remained trained on Ambrose. "You shouldn't have any problems. But if you do, _I_ will deal with them."

Molly glanced back and forth between the two men, temporarily immobile. There was obviously something deeper between the two of them; something that was beyond her level of understanding at the moment. It had been initially apparent that they disliked each other, but this went further than dislike.

Just as the tension seemed to reach an unbearable point, where something _must_ happen – the man who had brought her here, Ambrose, turned to her and smiled. There was no joy in the expression.

"Sleep well, sweet Molly," he said in his gruff voice, giving her another exaggerated bow. "I'm glad you've joined our little…family."

She managed to force her lips into a small smile and briefly nod at him before glancing back at Mr. Barrett, who still glowered in his direction. She was acutely aware of Ambrose's eyes on her while Barrett's eyes were on him.

For the first time, she found herself wondering what she'd stepped into in this place, and if it might be worse than what she'd just left behind.

Gently, she reached out and lightly touched Mr. Barrett's arm. He looked back at her, surprised, and she mustered a smile. "You were showing me my room?" she reminded him gently.

"Of course," he replied, surprised at her directness. He gestured towards their continued path. "This way."

He glanced back at Ambrose and nodded in the direction of his office, feeling the smile on his face tighten. Apparently, his wish to be able to put off dealing with the man for another few days would not be granted this evening.

* * *

"It was just a bit of harmless fun," Ambrose insisted, rolling his eyes.

"Dragging a terrified girl out of her home in the middle of the night and trying to sell her into slavery is harmless fun for you?"

He fell silent, morose. "It worked out all right for all involved," he finally answered. "She got away from her louse of a father, who was doing God-knows-what to her, and you have a housemaid. Abigail will finally stop nagging you."

Wade snorted. "Oh yes, it worked out. Now instead of having money for Parker's debt, I get to pay his daughter to work for me. Truly, a sound financial decision." He stared at Ambrose. "Why did you really bring her?"

He noticed the man's shoulders twitch, and tried to pull back his expression of disgust.

"I wanted her," he finally said boldly, meeting the other man's eyes. "I hoped that you might ship her off to the brothel."

Wade closed his eyes and began massaging his temples. "Well that didn't work, did it?"

"No. But I _will_ find a way."

The tone in his voice forced Barrett's eyes open and he studied him shrewdly. "Why are you so fixated on her?"

Ambrose's lips curled back from his teeth. "She refused me," he answered. "She wouldn't let me in to her home. A common drunkard's daughter, thinking she's better than me…thinking she's above me in some way. It's a misguided notion that I intend to correct."

"Listen to me," Barrett broke in, tiring of this nonsense. "Let it go. Before your damned pride gets you thrown out of this circle. You must know how close you are to the edges of acceptable behavior. If things hadn't worked out as favorably as they had this evening, I would have been forced to take action against you. Don't make me do that, Dean."

He could see the other man's body tense and then still, his eyes filling with anger. "Do not," he continued, "let your temper get the best of you. You will regret it."

After a few terse moments, Ambrose looked away, swallowing hard. He hated that he still needed this bastard. All he really wanted to do in that moment was knock a few teeth down his throat, but he must gain control of himself. There were other considerations at play.

"Can I go?" He finally asked, attempting to look bored.

Barrett shook his head, looking weary, but waved his hand in dismissal. He knew that he hadn't gotten through to the man, and he knew that these problems would only continue. It was time for a new strategy.

Ambrose stood smoothly and walked out of the room swiftly, anger bringing a fluid grace to his long, lanky body. He paused at the front door, glancing down the hallway towards where Molly slept. He shook his head and shook those thoughts away. Not yet. Soon, in spite of the little lecture he'd received this evening…but not tonight.

Blissfully unaware of what her new life had in store for her, Molly slipped into her soft bed with fresh sheets and fell asleep with a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly Parker's first morning as an employee in the Barrett household was, in an odd contrast to the circumstances that had brought her there, quiet and calm.

At least it was until Mrs. Barrett awoke at nearly the same time that Mr. Ambrose elected to come through the front door.

Molly nervously fluttered about the kitchen, horribly aware of Mr. Ambrose staring at her intently over the mug of coffee she'd given him while Mrs. Barrett screeched at Mr. Barrett on the floor above her.

She sounded like a pleasant woman, Molly thought wryly.

Her morning had been going very well. She'd awoken expecting that she'd dreamed the whole thing, and was pleasantly surprised to find that she hadn't. Her life had actually taken a turn for the better out of some very strange happenings.

She had cautiously traversed the ground floor of the house, unsure as to where she should begin her day. Mr. Barrett was already awake and in his office, looking exhausted. She'd felt a twinge of pity for him as she observed the dark, sunken hollows beneath his eyes.

"Molly," he'd said, a small smile on his lips. "Early riser like myself, I see." His gray eyes studied her with friendly interest. "Sleep well?"

She was too shy to actually answer him, and so she'd nodded like a fool. Even remembering it now, her cheeks burned a bit.

Mr. Barrett had seemed to sense that, and had very gently coaxed her into a conversation. He truly was a very kind man.

Unfortunately, he was a very kind man who was on the receiving end of screams from his shrew of a wife at the present moment.

She immediately shoved those thoughts aside. She had yet to meet Mrs. Barrett; she may be an entirely lovely woman. She mustn't judge her based upon her private business with her husband.

Molly turned and her eyes caught Mr. Ambrose. He was still staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked exhausted as well, but Molly doubted it was any worry that was keeping him awake last night – it was probably some manner of debauchery and evil-doing. She attempted to chastise herself into shoving these thoughts aside as well, and found that she simply couldn't.

There was a fine line between being judgmental and guarding your own safety. Her thoughts of Mrs. Barrett were unnecessarily judgmental. Her thoughts of Mr. Ambrose, she feared, were not.

"How was your first night, Miss Molly?" The man spoke.

"Fine, sir." She replied, attempting to make herself appear busier than she was.

He snorted. "You don't have to be so formal, sweetheart." She glanced up to see him grinning at her. "Although I do kind of enjoy it."

Those words made her skin crawl for some reason. She couldn't quite understand what he was driving at, but the way he looked at her when he said it…she knew that there was a deeper meaning to his words, and that it was meant to be offensive.

Thankfully, she was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of Mr. Barrett, followed by a sullen-looking redhead that he introduced as his wife.

Molly tried to keep an open mind, but that faltered almost immediately. The woman stared at her as if she was nothing more than dirt on her (expensive and entirely impractical) shoes. It was then that Abigail Barrett lost her favor forever.

"I suppose," the woman said by way of greeting, "that we'll need to feed and clothe you, in addition to paying you a ridiculous sum of money?"

"Abigail," Mr. Barrett said warningly.

Mrs. Barrett snapped her mouth shut and stormed out of the room. Mr. Ambrose glanced between the two remaining parties with some amusement.

"I thought Abigail would be happy," he said to Mr. Barrett, enjoying the hard-set line of his jaw and the ruddy flush on his cheeks and ears. "If it causes you much trouble, I'd be happy to take Molly off of your hands."

Barrett's eyes shot to him before glancing at the young girl, who looked terrified at the prospect. "No," he said firmly. "Molly is here to stay."

She managed to flash him a small smile, in spite of her roiling stomach. This morning was not turning out well at all.

* * *

After things had settled, Molly moved into the flow of working – and she was actually working; Mrs. Barrett apparently didn't believe in the notion that a home should be kept clean, another strike against her in Molly's mind.

To her great annoyance, long after Mr. Barrett had disappeared to calm his wife, Mr. Ambrose lingered. She attempted to ignore his eyes on her and found that she wasn't succeeding.

"Is there something else you need?" She finally asked, glancing up at him while she dusted a display shelf.

The right side of his mouth curled into a smile. "I just like watching you work," he replied slowly. "There's a certain sensuality to your movements that's quite irresistible."

She felt her face flush and turned away, resolving to keep quiet around him in the future.

Ambrose watched her return to her work with a false sense of concentration and barely kept his smile from spreading across his face. This was one of his favorite games – so simple, yet so effective. All he had to do was follow her with his eyes, watching as she became increasingly unsettled. He found that it spoke to a person's character, how they reacted when they were being so obviously watched.

And the one thing that had been confirmed for him about the character of Molly Parker – she was meek. She furtively glanced at him to see if he was still looking, never speaking out or telling him to stop. She had been beaten down, that much was obvious.

That fact disappointed him. It wasn't terribly amusing to torment the weak. They were entirely too easy to disarm. The strong ones, the stubborn ones – they provided more of a challenge; they required more cunning and finesse.

Much like the rest of his London experience, this girl was turning into a disappointment.

He kept his unseeing eyes focused on her while his thoughts turned to more satisfactory territory.

For the past few months, he had grown restless. He could feel it, and others could see it. He'd asked Barrett for the backing on a new venture, one that might satiate his appetite for destruction. Bareknuckle fighting was too civilized; there were too many rules. He wanted to start a brawling ring. The winner would be determined by who could still stand in the end. There would be no mercy given, and there would be no quarter for the losers.

It would, he hoped, be the solution to his dissatisfaction…if only he could get it started. Unfortunately, he truly needed Wade Barrett to put his name and reputation behind it. Barrett had been hesitant, but had agreed to consider the idea. Ambrose hoped that today would be the day he finally received his approval and began moving forward.

Otherwise…he wasn't sure what actions he would resort to taking. Sometimes, the darkness in his own mind troubled him.

His thoughts were interrupted when Barrett came in and went straight to Molly. He was being incredibly considerate of the girl's feelings, and if Ambrose didn't know him as well as he did he'd suspect something. As it were, Barrett was soft. He was probably trying to make up for the way she'd arrived here last night.

"When Sheamus arrives today, I'll have him go pick up your belongings," he was saying gently, a hand placed warmly on her shoulder.

Ambrose tried, again, to contain his grin. "Let me go," he interrupted. "Sheamus will be here in hours. I can procure Molly's possessions and be back before lunch. That way, she can have some clean clothes when she meets the good doctor this afternoon."

Barrett's eyes narrowed in reluctance as he considered the idea, and Ambrose knew that he would be the one going. He quickly swallowed down the rest of his coffee and stood up.

"No trouble, do you hear me?" Barrett said in a low tone.

Ambrose stared beyond him at Molly. "No trouble at all," he promised, flashing her a toothy grin.

It did not inspire confidence.

* * *

In a great stroke of luck, the Parker house was empty when Ambrose made his way there. Jumping the gate and popping the door open with ease, he wasted no time in climbing the stairs and entering Molly's former bedroom.

Now he slowed himself. He was holding on to the hope that Molly might not be a timid child, and he hoped to find the proof of that here.

He wasn't sure why that feeling persisted. He simply felt that there was more beneath her surface, and his feelings were usually proven right. He was curious to see if that would be the case this time as well.

With great care that would have surprised Molly, he systematically emptied the drawers in her bureau and packed them away in a suitcase. His fingers traced over the soft cotton of her underthings as he removed them from their respective drawer, but he quickly shook his head and put them in with the rest.

Not the time.

He searched through the small trinket box on top of the stand, finding nothing of real monetary value but several things that were obviously important to her in some way. A small pair of battered pearl earrings. Several dried, brittle rose petals – he guessed that they might have been red at one time. A delicate pink seashell the size of his smallest fingernail, yet perfectly symmetrical and well-preserved. And, most curious, a jagged piece of green glass. He nearly stabbed himself on it before seeing it in the bottom of the box and removing it with care.

Nothing he could decipher, although his interest was piqued. He laid the box in with the rest, making a mental inventory of its contents. Then, he turned his attention towards her nightstand.

It was filled, nearly to the brim, with books. Various novels, none of the trashy romantic variety that he'd expected. Tales of courage and valor; tales of brave knights and ordinary men performing extraordinary acts.

A small smile spread across his lips. One of the few young ladies who was drawn towards the good in men, it would seem. How unfortunate for him.

He slid open the small drawer and noted a small leather-bound volume with no title on the cover. Flipping it open, he saw flowing handwriting spreading across pages.

The realization dawned on him abruptly. This was not a novel. This was the exact thing he had been searching for – a way to get inside of that pretty little head.

He packed the rest of the books in with her clothes and trinkets, feeling a bit of pity that her whole life could be contained so easily in one suitcase.

Tucking her diary into his jacket pocket, he made his way back to the Barrett house with a new spring in his step.

For the first time in perhaps ever, Dean Ambrose was overjoyed by the prospect of spending the afternoon with a book.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly returned to her room that night entirely exhausted and incredibly excited at the potential for a solid night of sleep.

Her afternoon had been spent with Doctor Callahan, who had given her very basic instruction in medicine and a very long list of books to read on the subject. While she found most of the material fascinating, it did make for an interesting problem of making her head feel as if it was continually spinning on her neck at a very rapid pace.

When she felt her sense of equilibrium return, she might attempt to discover the name of that particular medical condition.

Yawning wildly, she pushed the door to her bedroom open and stopped short at the sight before her.

Mr. Ambrose was on her bed, head propped on the pillow and legs crossed at the ankles, reading a book. She had a brief moment to wonder if she'd entered the wrong room before recognizing the book in his hands with sick horror.

"Molly," he said, nodding without looking up. "Nearly finished. Give me a moment, please."

Blinking rapidly and stunned into a stupor, she woodenly sat in the chair beside the small writing table she'd been given. Her weary mind tried to work on this problem before her, and found that she could only constantly repeat one thought – she had known that his retrieval of her possessions had gone too smoothly.

After several moments, he made the exaggerated show of closing the book and staring at her. "Quite an interesting thing to read," he finally said. "You're not at all who you seem."

She met his eyes before briefly looking away. "And just who do I seem? You, who have known me for a grand total of forty-eight hours, surely know best."

He managed a small laugh. "That's a fair point, I suppose." He paused, still studying her. "How long had you planned on killing your father?"

Her head shot up and she stared at him, but she said nothing.

"You're so full of anger. There are several points where the pen nearly punctures the paper you were bearing down so hard."

"My life was not easy," she finally said. "Now you know that truth. Are you satisfied?"

"No," he replied. "There is still so much more that I want to know."

"I'm afraid you won't get any answers." She stood and pointed to the door. "Please leave."

He was on his feet in a moment, stepping towards her. "I'll get what I came here for," he said, a hard edge to his voice.

"What was that, exactly?"

His hands shot out quickly and yanked the front of her dress down beneath her breasts. Startled, she backed away with her arms crossed over her chest. He smiled, but there was no joy in it.

"Molly May," he said, shaking his head. "I want to see if that pretty flush on your cheeks extends down to your nipples. Are they the same sweet, rosy pink?"

"Get out," she replied, trying to steel her voice while attempting to wrestle herself back into her dress. She was afraid that some of the authority she hoped to convey was lost as a result.

"No," he answered simply. "No, I don't think I will."

He took several steps towards her very quickly and pulled her arms down to her sides. She closed her eyes and tried to control her racing thoughts. She had several ideas on how to handle this situation. However, killing a man on her first day of employment seemed to be a bit foolish and that fact eliminated nearly all of them.

His fingers lightly traced down the curve of her breast before he took the whole of it in his hand and lightly squeezed.

"Your skin is flawless," he said quietly. "Soft and perfect."

Before she could respond, his hand moved away. She almost opened her eyes, thinking that this strange encounter was over. However, almost the moment she had that thought she felt both of his hands on her breasts, gently pushing them together.

She felt a gentle tickling sensation and finally opened her eyes, curious, to see that it was a small tuft of his hair. He had dropped to his knees in front of her and as she watched, he leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth.

Purely out of instinct, her foot shot out and she kicked him in the stomach.

He fell back, a wheezing sound flying past his lips. She took the moment he was incapacitated to pull her dress back up.

"Get. Out." She repeated through clenched teeth. "You have no right."

The amused half-smile had finally dropped off his face. He slowly climbed to his feet, pale and clutching his stomach.

"You'll regret that," he said, stepping past her on his way towards the door.

"No, I think you will. Mr. Barrett won't like hearing this."

He spun around quickly and a bitter laugh escaped his lips. "You listen to me, sweetheart," he replied, a sneer frozen on his face. "Say a goddamn word and I'll have your pretty little tongue in a jar on my mantle. Don't _fuck_ with me."

* * *

As Dean Ambrose stormed out of the Barrett household in a black mood, Molly tried to collect herself.

She knew almost immediately that sleep was going to escape her for the night. He'd been in her bed. There was no way she could sleep until she'd washed everything in scalding water.

Resigning herself to the notion of a hard night ahead and a terrible tomorrow, she left her bedroom and made her way to the study. She thought she might get a head start on some of the books Doctor Callahan had left her. Maybe she could find the reason her stomach had swooped uncomfortably when Mr. Ambrose had put his mouth on her.

She was lost in her thoughts and stopped short when she saw that she wasn't the only one awake this evening.

"Molly," Mr. Barrett said, surprised. "I thought you'd gone to bed."

She managed a strained smile. "Trouble sleeping. I thought I'd get a start on reading, but I can do that in my room and leave you in peace."

"No, that's not necessary," he said, shaking his head. "Sit."

Cautiously, she made her way to one of the easy chairs. The pillow and blanket on the sofa did not escape her attention.

"Did I get you in trouble with Mrs. Barrett?" She asked before she really considered if that was an appropriate question or not.

He glanced at her and managed a small smile. "No, you didn't get me in trouble with Mrs. Barrett. _I_ got me in trouble with Mrs. Barrett." He laughed. "Truthfully, it's a very easy thing to do." He stood up and made his way to a cabinet in the corner, taking out a bottle and two glasses. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes," Molly answered immediately, surprising even herself. She glanced in her lap to see her hands shaking. The situation with Mr. Ambrose must have bothered her more than she'd cared to admit.

Mr. Barrett's eyebrows crept up his forehead, but he said nothing. He turned his back and poured them both a substantial amount of liquor before returning and handing her a glass. He pointedly ignored how her hands shook, for which she was forever grateful.

She swallowed down the liquid quickly, ignoring both the taste and the burning sensation in her throat. Mr. Barrett raised one eyebrow, but downed his own glass just as quickly before collecting their glasses and pouring again.

"Tough first day?" He asked as he came back. "Or do you usually drink like a sailor on shore leave?"

Molly was surprised when she laughed. "First drink ever, I'll have you know," she replied, reaching out to take her second glass from him. Their hands brushed lightly and her heart was suddenly beating rapidly in her chest.

"So tough first day then," he surmised, taking a seat across from her. "Are we really that bad?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "You're not bad at all," she answered. "Mrs. Barrett is…different…than what I had expected."

He smiled wryly. "She's a bitch, you mean."

"Not necessarily a…no, no," Molly tried to backpeddle miserably, not quite noticing the growing twinkle of amusement in Mr. Barrett's eyes.

"Molly," he interrupted, leaning towards her and putting one of his large hands over hers, "I married her. I know what she is. You're not going to offend me."

She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, and Mr. Barrett suddenly pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned. She had a moment to feel hurt before she realized that he was simply trying to behave appropriately. If it was at all possible to do so, she admired him even more in that moment. Especially after what she had gone through with Mr. Ambrose earlier in the evening.

"If you knew what she was," Molly said, throwing all caution to the wind, "why did you marry her?"

Mr. Barrett smiled. "I thought I'd knocked her up."

The answer – and his blunt way of stating it – surprised her, and her face must have shown as much, and elicited a laugh out of him.

"Did I just shock you?" He asked, grinning. "I wasn't quite the proper gentleman in my youth." He paused. "As it turns out, I didn't put her in the family way," he continued. "But by the time I'd discovered that little fact, we were already married."

Molly shook her head. "She gives decent women a bad name," she said darkly, taking another drink.

"Oh I don't know," Mr. Barrett replied. "All women – and men, for that matter – really, all of us have our idiosyncrasies. All of us have some darkness to us, I think."

"Some more than others," she answered, thinking of Mr. Ambrose, who was more dark than light.

"Yes," he agreed. "Some much more than others."

Their eyes met briefly before they each looked away. The weight of the night had settled on Molly, and she was starting to feel as if she might sleep after all.

"I think," she said slowly, looking down into her glass instead of at her companion, "that I should attempt sleep again."

He nodded. "I think that's probably a good idea." He stood and gently took the glass from her hands. "We fight tomorrow night. You should be ready."

* * *

Wade watched her leave, weaving a little unsteadily on her feet. She hadn't lied about her inexperience with alcohol. Given her past, he could understand why she avoided the stuff.

He took another drink of his own, his mind working furiously. He didn't believe that he was a stupid man, but he was also smart enough to know his knowledge wasn't infinite. Something was bothering her when she'd come in; and it was something more than a difficult first day.

And, thanks to his wife, it had indeed been a difficult day.

He rolled his eyes and sighed aloud. When they first married, he thought that he might get used to her childish ways and her tantrums. He hoped, although without much fervor, that she might even grow out of them. After five years, neither had proven to be true. He grew wearier of her every day, and she acted out accordingly.

Not an ideal situation. Not really an ideal life.

It seemed to get more complicated all the time. Things were supposed to settle when you married. Things were supposed to calm down and you were supposed to grow into a stable, responsible man.

Instead, he was sleeping on the sofa and drinking with the new maid that his wife loathed for no reason. He was doing his best not to run upstairs and beg his wife to help him build a life that made sense instead of fighting against him at every turn.

He'd failed as a husband. He'd failed as a provider. He'd failed, quite simply, as a man.

"Then to hell with sobriety," he muttered, downing the last of the liquor in his glass and standing to pour himself another one.

If he couldn't be a good man, a drunken one would do just as well.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean Ambrose had left the Barrett household the previous evening in a positively murderous frame of mind.

He was not accustomed to being denied when he wanted something. And he had wanted that girl last night.

As he'd walked out the door, his stomach still sore and his substantial erection aching maddeningly, he swore that he'd have her before the week was out.

A trip to the brothel – where he'd had to pay a handsome sum after he'd marked up that whore's face – and a night of fighting had calmed him considerably.

Ambrose's downfall wasn't his intellect – he was, in fact, an intelligent man. His fault was his rashness. He could be impatient, and that was exactly what had happened last night. He had rushed with Molly.

Some things could be taken by force. In fact, some things _should_ be taken by force in his mind. She wasn't one of them. If she'd been a little more spirited – and that kick didn't count; he knew it had been a wounded animal merely defending itself – it would have been more sporting. But forcing himself on a beaten woman was no challenge.

The challenge would lie in making her want to be with him; the challenge was in making her a willing participant.

It was with this in mind that he kept his distance from her as she worked. He was doing his best not to convey hostility, and tried to watch her only when her back was turned.

She and Doctor Callahan worked through the other men in the room, the doctor stitching faces and re-setting noses while Molly worked on clean-up duty. She seemed to take it with good grace, although she looked a bit pale.

Ambrose attempted to relax, knowing he would be last on their priority list. He only had a small cut under his eye and some bruised, bloody knuckles. He'd given far worse than he'd gotten tonight. "You the big winner tonight, Mr. Ambrose?" The doctor asked wearily as he finally made his way over. Molly was still mopping up the mess left in the wake of Sheamus' broken nose.

"I did all right," he replied, attempting modesty.

"You look a lot better than the others. Molly, fresh needle and thread please. Then come over here and take care of Mr. Ambrose's hands."

She brought his implements within minutes, leaving the Irishman to hold a rag to his own face. Not sparing a moment to look directly into his eyes, she knelt beside his chair and began gently washing away the dried blood on his hands.

Ambrose winced when the needle went in and his hands jerked reflexively. She paused for a moment before resuming her chore, a bit more hurried than before. Although he quickly became accustomed to the sensation of the needle sliding in and out of his skin, his flexed his hands again and lightly caught Molly by the wrist.

"Almost done," the doctor murmured. "You're not usually so jumpy."

"New spot. Hurts," he replied, trying to keep his face from moving too much. He slipped his hand upward and carefully wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing lightly as the needle went in.

He could feel her discomfort, but she didn't pull away. He took that as a good sign.

As the doctor finished his last stitch and tied everything off, he gave her fingers one last gentle squeeze before he pulled his hand away. She didn't quite rush away from him in response, but she did move rather abruptly.

She returned to the Irishman, checking his nose to see if it had stopped bleeding. It had. With the gentlest smile and touch possible, she finished cleaning the blood off of his face. He gave her a shy grin, and Ambrose felt his stomach clench.

Absolutely not.

He made a careful show of leaving for the night, and then waited while the others actually left. As the last man – a weary-looking Doctor Callahan – walked out the door, he doubled back.

Molly was on her hands and knees, wiping droplets of blood off of the floor. He tried, and was unable, to suppress a smile.

"I hope," he said slowly, enjoying her startled expression, "that your first fight night didn't scare you away."

"No," she replied warily, sitting back on her heels and staring at him. "No, it was fine. Did you forget something?"

"I wanted to speak to you about last night," he replied, keeping his eyes trained on her while he found a seat. "More specifically, I wanted to apologize."

Her face showed her skepticism without any attempt to shield her emotions.

"I'm not sorry for what I did," he explained. "I'm not sorry that I was able to see you at least partially undressed or that, for a brief moment, I was able to taste your skin. But I am sorry for the way I went about it. You…you seem to bring out a very," he paused, as if searching for the right word. "You bring out a very _barbaric_ side of me, my dear."

He flashed her a toothy smile. "I can't help myself around you."

"Then perhaps you should stay away from me," she replied, her voice hard.

He laughed merrily, although her answer surprised him. "I can't," he replied simply. "I could, of course, if you left – but I don't believe you will. And I am here to stay. Believe that. So that puts us at an impasse, Miss Molly."

He stood and walked towards her very quickly. "Unless, of course…." He grabbed her by the arms suddenly and yanked her to her feet, pushing her into the wall and covering her mouth with his hand before she could cry out. "Unless, of course," he repeated, "you decide to give me what I want from you."

His free hand worked steadily up her skirt until his fingers lightly brushed her panties. Her eyes registered her horror, but he smiled blandly at her and pressed his body against hers. It was mostly to keep her pinned in place, but he did so enjoy the feel of her against him.

Staring into her eyes, he pushed the fabric aside and lightly brushed her bare skin with his hand. She was so soft, so warm. He let his finger lightly part her lips and found the small nub he was searching for.

He started stroking it slowly at first, rubbing in a circular motion and then in a side-to-side way. He felt her respond more to the second, and so he continued with that, pleased when his fingers began to slide easily against her.

Her eyelids started to flutter and he felt her breathing pick up behind his hand. Unable to suppress a smirk, he slid his hand away from her mouth and replaced it with his lips. He parted her lips with his tongue and lightly played it in and out of her mouth in rhythm with his fingers. She didn't kiss him back, but he hadn't expected her to.

Finally, he felt her body tense against his. He moved his fingers faster, his kiss becoming more insistent and his free hand lightly stroking over the contours of her breasts. He could feel her nipples getting harder every time he ran his fingers over them and found himself wishing he could pull her dress down again. He nearly did it, actually, until the small part of his brain that was actually focused on the bigger picture reminded him that it wasn't a part of the plan.

He was nearly ready to throw that plan out the window, but Molly chose that precise moment to have her first orgasm. Her body shook violently and her eyes clenched shut, a strangled moan escaping her lips and being smothered by his.

He slowed his fingers, smiling, and then pulled back to look at her. She was still eyeing him warily through half-lidded eyes, but she didn't call out for anyone. He leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips against her forehead, letting his fingers stop and slide towards her entrance.

"No," she said, trying to squirm away from him.

"Shh," he replied. "I'm not going to take it." He slid his finger partially inside of her, stopping when he encountered resistance. She was tight and wet and completely untouched. He felt himself throb at the thought of how it would feel the first time.

But, true to his word, he didn't push any further. He withdrew his fingers and, while she looked on in horror, he put them in his mouth and licked them clean.

He smiled at her lazily. "Oh Molly," he murmured, bending to kiss her again. "You are perfect in every way possible. You even taste sweet."

Disgust crept onto her face, but he could see an underlying hint of shame. So she'd enjoyed it. Good.

"I hope you'll forgive me for last night," he continued. "I hope you found this apology…acceptable." He took her by the chin and brought her face up to his again. "I couldn't bear it if you were still upset with me. My sweet Molly."

She wrenched away from him, still trembling.

"You are vile," she said in a low voice.

His smile grew wider. "And you enjoyed every moment of it," he replied, a hard edge to his voice. To prove his point, he put his fingers in his mouth again.

He could see the disgust and anger on her face, and the brief moment her eyes filled with tears, before she turned and walked away.

He let her go.

He'd proven his point.

For now.


	7. Chapter 7

In spite of the night's successes, Dean Ambrose was having a difficult time falling asleep.

He took another deep drag off of the cigarette in his hand, his eyes focused on the ceiling but not seeing the cracked, dirty plaster; he was seeing, instead, the fluttering brown eyes of Molly Parker when he had brought her to the ultimate place of pleasure.

His lips twitched upward slightly before falling back into a thoughtful frown.

It was a good start, but nothing more than that. He'd made her aware of what he could do for her. He'd made her aware of her latent sexual desires, and he had connected himself to them in an undeniable way.

The question became how he should proceed from here. He had briefly considered if he even wanted to proceed – his original objective had been met; he'd shown her that she was no better than he was – but the memory of her pressed against him made that decision quickly.

He wanted more.

He shook his head, attempting to dissipate those thoughts of her and the inevitable lust that swelled with them, and focus on the problem before him.

The way he saw it, he had two potential options. The first was to simply fuck her and be done with the matter. Quick, easy, and painless. Well, for him. He knew that this was the intelligent way to handle the situation, but he found that he wasn't willing to pursue this option just yet. The second was to continue this gentle assault, these little encounters, until she lusted after him just as much as he did her. Then she would give herself to him.

Unfortunately, he didn't believe that would work. She wasn't going to give in because he made her come a few times.

He sighed heavily, bringing his cigarette back to his mouth. "You're a tough one, Molly May," he murmured around it while he inhaled. "What should I do with you?"

Any other time he'd wanted a woman, it hadn't been a problem. He considered himself an attractive man, and he had the added benefit of being able to be charming for short periods of time. That was usually enough.

He realized now what a stupid mistake he'd made the first night he met her. She was wary of him now, and wouldn't be receptive at all to any friendly advances. He initially thought that this would pose no problem, and he was cursing his lack of foresight.

That and the ill-advised nonsense in her room. A small sound of self-disgust slid through his lips and he covered his weary eyes with his hand.

The diary had given him next-to-nothing. Only that she was angry at her father, and any fool could have seen that already. Perhaps the _depth_ of her anger was surprising, but ultimately useless to him.

He bit his lip. "Think," he muttered, slapping himself in the forehead. "Stop dwelling on those failures and focus on success."

After a few minutes, he simply gave up for the evening. All he could think about was how she had felt against his hand, and it was having a very distracting effect.

"Should have stopped at the whorehouse," he sighed, extinguishing his cigarette before unbuttoning his pants and kicking them aside to attend to his needs.

Miles away, in the Barrett household, a single lamp burned in Molly Parker's bedroom.

* * *

She was still mildly stunned. After she had retreated to her room, listening to the sounds of his footsteps receding from her, she sat on the bed with her hands folded between her knees. Immediately, an uncomfortable reminder of what had just happened sprang on her when the wetness between her thighs spread.

She jumped up and quickly went about cleaning herself, changing into her sleepwear at the same time.

Her eyes filled with tears as she threw her dirty laundry in the basket. Once they arrived, there was no stopping them.

She now sat with her knees tucked to her chest on the bed, still trying to make sense of what had happened. Still trying to understand why she'd physically, if not mentally, enjoyed being touched by that disgusting man.

These thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Mr. Barrett's head poked around the corner. "You're still awake?" He stopped as he caught the sight of tears on her cheeks.

Molly quickly wiped them away. "Just getting ready for bed," she said with false cheeriness.

Mr. Barrett's eyes narrowed. "Can I come in for a moment?"

She tried to smile at him. "Of course."

He made his way to the chair beside her bed and folded his long body into it. "What's troubling you?"

She shook her head. While it would have been wise to tell Mr. Barrett about Mr. Ambrose's behavior, the memory of his threat hung over her head. She didn't want to risk angering him enough to act on those threats.

Mr. Barrett was quiet for a few moments. "Did seeing the men in tough shape disturb you? I can assure you, they're all going to be fine. They've suffered much worse." He paused, attempting to gauge her mood. She said nothing, but tears still streamed down her cheeks.

"Molly," he said gently, and she finally looked at him. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth and then looked away again. She truly didn't know what possible excuse to give him for her behavior.

After a few moments, he stood. She thought that he was going to leave, but instead he sat beside her on the bed. Cautiously, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and, weary, she rested against his chest.

"You can tell me anything," he said, his voice rumbling against her ear. He was so warm; his heart beating strongly and steadily beneath her ear was soothing. "I won't be angry with you. You're in a safe place now; this is your home."

That brought tears to her eyes again and she swallowed hard. "Would you believe," she said after a few moments, "that I actually miss that miserable hole I used to live in?"

She was lying, of course, but thought it might be the most plausible explanation.

"Yes," he replied promptly, his fingers lightly stroking her shoulder. "That was your home, with your family. Flawed as they might have been, they're still a part of you." He paused. "You don't have to live here, you know."

She sat up immediately, horrified at the thought. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I like it here. I truly do. I just…had a moment this evening. It will pass."

He managed to contain his smile, but barely. "I'm glad to hear that. We…I…enjoy having you here." He reached out and lightly brushed her hair out of her face, his stomach fluttering nervously. He suddenly realized how entirely inappropriate this was, and stood up.

"I'll leave you to get some rest," he said quickly. "I should turn in myself."

She smiled at him, and it was more natural than her other attempts. He felt relieved for that, in spite of the self-chastisements swirling through his brain. They said their goodnights, and he retreated to the sofa, although he would be unable to sleep for some time.

For Molly, however, sleep finally came. As she rested her head on the pillow, she could have sworn she was hearing the sound of Mr. Barrett's heart beating beneath her ear once more. Smiling, she drifted off into pleasant dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

Ambrose had suffered through a miserable nights' sleep, his dreams filled with only Molly Parker. He woke with still no inkling on how to broach the situation, and that, combined with the lack of sleep, put him in a foul mood.

With little hope for the day, he approached the Barrett household. Of course, today would be the day Barrett required a meeting with him. It simply wouldn't wait until he wasn't plagued with doubt and uncertainty.

He swept into the house, noticing how Molly avoided his gaze. 'Well fine,' he thought bitterly, and ignored her right back. He found that his inability to decide how to handle the situation made him unreasonably angry towards her.

It was with this overarching emotion that he went into his meeting and suffered through a half hour of more meticulous questioning and careful consideration. It made him want to vomit.

"We beat the piss out of each other," he finally snapped. "No rules. What's the difficult part of this concept?"

Barrett regarded him coolly. "The difficult part is attempting to predict if it will sell."

Ambrose felt a grin slip onto his face. "Oh it'll sell," he replied. "Violence like that appeals to the darker side of all of us…the animalistic side. People will be drawn to it."

Barrett was still chewing his lip thoughtfully. "I'd like to take more time…."

"Of course you would," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Always, more time." He stood up abruptly. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

"I'm afraid you don't have many other options."

"Not yet. But I will. I have a way of getting what I want, Mr. Barrett," he sneered. "And I'll get this, with or without your help."

"Be very careful," Wade cautioned. "You don't want to say something you'll regret."

Ambrose closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Of course not," he answered with his eyes still shut. "You'll have to excuse me; I didn't sleep well last night and I'm a bit more on edge than usual."

The room remained in tense silence for a few moments before Barrett spoke again. "Another time, then. We can discuss this at a later date."

Ambrose balled his fists up and released them quickly. He didn't _want_ to discuss this at a later date; he wanted Barrett's backing _now_. He was smart enough to realize, however, that it wouldn't be coming today. And, if he continued on this path, it may not be coming at all.

Instead, he quickly said his thanks and left immediately, looking forward to the day when he wouldn't have to swallow his pride for the man.

As he walked out, rubbing his temples, he nearly collided with his other problem – Molly, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"What?" He growled in her general direction. His head was pounding with such pain that it was affecting his eyesight.

"N-nothing," she stammered and attempted to continue on her way.

His hand shot out and wrapped tightly around her arm. In contrast to his first encounter with her this morning, now that he had her in his sight he didn't want to let her leave.

He didn't know what he would say until the words fell out of his mouth. "Do I frighten you?"

"No," she replied boldly through quivering lips.

He smiled, although it came across as more of a contemptuous sneer. "I should. Don't forget that. Don't you dare."

He stared at her for a moment before releasing her arm and stalking away, feeling good for the first time in this hellacious morning.

* * *

Molly attempted to shake off the latest encounter with Mr. Ambrose by throwing herself into her work once more. It was becoming a habit, she thought wryly. Mr. Barrett would expect such fervor from her all the time.

She made her way into the study and found Mr. Barrett's tangle of blankets and pillow on the sofa. Her heart sank slightly – he was still sleeping here. She must have really caused him some trouble, and that was a miserable thought indeed.

With great care, she folded the blankets and fluffed the pillow to place on top. She wouldn't put them away just yet – she didn't want him to have to go searching for them if he was sleeping here again this evening.

Not that he looked like he was getting much sleep in any case. The circles under his weary eyes grew darker every day.

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. Why did the good men of the world receive all the punishment, while the wicked were able to enjoy the rewards? It didn't seem right.

She quickly reminded herself that she knew little of Mr. Barrett, and that sleeping on the sofa was not the worst possible punishment in the world. And yet, she found herself angered by any inconvenience he suffered.

She sighed heavily. Why must she always insist on being the caretaker of some troubled man? She consciously avoided the role, and yet always seemed to slip back into it without notice. Without rational thought, she punched at the fluffed pillow angrily. Why was she such a fool? Why did she end up in the same situations over and over again?

"Did my pillow offend you in some way?"

She turned to see Mr. Barrett regarding her curiously, and she managed a thin smile. "No. I'm sorry. I was…thinking of other things." She shook her head. "I let my temper get the best of me."

His smile melted into a bit more natural expression. "Happens to all of us," he said easily, sitting at his desk and running his hand back through his hair. She tried to ignore the way her heart stuttered in her chest.

"Would you like me to put these away for you?" She asked, gesturing towards the pillow and blanket in a vain attempt to be able to leave the room.

"A bit optimistic of you, don't you think?" He replied, although his voice was gentle. "This is where I sleep, Molly. It's where I'll probably sleep for the rest of my life now that you're here." She glanced at him curiously. "I used to sleep in your bed," he explained.

Those words shot a white-hot bolt of emotion through her, although which emotion it was she would have been hard-pressed to identify by name.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she stammered. "Would you like it back? I can sleep here."

He shook his head. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel as if it was troublesome. I told you that as a way to explain my situation to you." The expression on his face hardened slightly. "Why does that bother you so much when it doesn't bother me?"

She stood for a moment, frozen, unsure of how to respond.

Finally, when the silence became unbearable, she primly took a seat on the edge of the sofa. "It was actually what I was thinking about when you came in," she admitted. "I don't understand why good men are made to suffer and wicked men are able to enjoy the good of the world. It troubles me."

"As it troubles everyone," he replied. "I don't want you to feel any pity for me, Molly. I made my bed." He glanced at the blankets beside her. "Figuratively if not literally," he chuckled.

She managed to flash him a shy smile. "You're better than most men, taking this the way you do."

He shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice, I'm afraid. I can choose to be angry, or I can choose to be happy with my lot in life. I choose happiness." He was surprised to see her glance away, obviously biting her tongue. "Out with it," he said, attempting to sound amused.

She bit her lip as she glanced at him, and his stomach clenched in a not-unpleasant way. "Choosing happiness is a wonderful decision," she said carefully. "But there is a difference between electing to be happy and allowing yourself to become complacent in a bad situation. You…you deserve better, sir. You _do_ know that, don't you?"

He could feel his smile become frozen on his face. "It's an interesting notion," he finally said cautiously. "It's one I'll give some thought. In the meantime, I believe we both have work to do?"

She nodded, quite obviously embarrassed, and made her way to the door.

"Molly," he said after a moment of internal debate, stopping her. She turned back to him, and he smiled at her. "I wish all women could be as kind as you are," he said before he really knew what he'd even intended to tell her. He looked down at his desk quickly, waving his hand towards the door and holding his breath as she walked out.

When he was alone, he threw his pen down on his desk and buried his hands in his hair.

"Seven Hells," he muttered to himself.

She was right.

* * *

Just outside the door, Molly took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

She couldn't believe what she'd just said. It was none of her business how Mr. Barrett lived his life, and it was certainly not her place to tell him how to do so.

"Stupid, stupid girl," she muttered, shaking her head. Her face felt uncomfortably hot. She closed her eyes and tried to shake away her embarrassment before returning to work.

The rest of their day would be more than a bit subdued. Mr. Barrett took care to avoid her, and she slept miserably that night with the nagging worry of having offended him pressing into her.

She was lost in the fog of these troublesome thoughts the following morning, and he didn't seem to be in a better temperament either. Although, truthfully, she thought it might have something to do with his company – another meeting with Mr. Ambrose, although he also had Mr. McIntyre and Mr. O'Shaughnessy with him.

She'd avoided thinking about Mr. Ambrose since their encounter yesterday morning. In truth, the one good thing about her embarrassing situation with Mr. Barrett was that it left little room for other thoughts.

She was careful this morning around Mr. Ambrose, although it appeared as if she didn't need to be. He was completely indifferent to her presence.

It was an odd change of pace, and in spite of her desire not to engage in further trouble, she did attempt to make herself conspicuous. He still did not react.

Curious.

Her work in that particular room done, she bustled away with a sad return to thoughts of how to fix the relationship between herself and Mr. Barrett.

Ambrose watched her leave and finally allowed a small smile to form on his lips.

This was another little game he'd come up with as he had attempted – and failed – to fall asleep last night. That was an occurrence that was starting to happen far too often for his liking, although it did on occasion lead to strokes of brilliance such as this one.

He acted as if nothing had happened between them. He acted, in fact, as if she wasn't even in the same room. He wasn't unfriendly towards her; he also wasn't displaying any interest in her. He was acting completely indifferent to her presence.

And it was quite obviously driving her absolutely insane.

His foul mood had returned only moments after he had left the house yesterday morning. Between the lack of sleep, Barrett's infuriating indecisiveness, and his own inability to decide on a course of action – it put him in one of his blackest moods yet. If only he could solve _one_ of these problems, he might be in a better position to solve the others.

The thought was so sudden and so perfect – he was astounded that it took him as long as it had. What had he always done following intimacy? Left. And what had his cohorts done? Thrown themselves at him in a vain attempt to regain his attention. It seemed to be something within the female psyche, and he was counting on the fact that Molly had that same quirk.

So far, it appeared as though she did.

He tried, and failed, to keep the smug smile off of his face. One problem down. She would be throwing herself at him within days. Then he could finally be rid of her for good.


	9. Chapter 9

The last few days had been full of overwhelming realizations for Wade Barrett.

The first, and most pressing, was that his life was indeed in an unsatisfactory condition and he could no longer ignore this. The second was that he had not one iota of love – truthfully, not even a scrap of affection – left for his wife. The third and fourth were absolutely related, and they were that he had a great deal of affection for his new housekeeper…and that she had to leave his employ. The sooner, the better.

He didn't understand how he could have grown to care about her in the few days he had known her. She was lovely, but he was never so drawn to that quality in others. Intelligent, obviously. She worked incredibly hard.

She was like a flower growing out of a rock – unexpected beauty arising from harsh conditions. He admired her tenacity in overcoming her circumstances, and he realized that was certainly a part of her appeal.

Logically, he wanted to believe it was the fact that she was the polar opposite of his darling Mrs. Barrett that drew him to her. But he felt a gnawing sense of wrongness about that idea.

She respected him and cared for his well-being, unlike his wife. She was providing him something that had been missing in his life. That was all, he thought firmly. And he didn't need any temptation to behave dishonorably.

Molly needed to go.

He sighed, his heart heavy. He didn't want to let her go. His damnable ego.

"It's more than that," he muttered unconsciously. But he shook the thought away. It couldn't possibly be anything more than that – he refused to allow it to be anything more than that.

He sat, brooding, for several minutes before Molly arrived unexpectedly and forced him into action.

"I'm sorry," she said uncertainly as a way to announce her presence.

"Molly," he said, with a sad smile. "I was just thinking about you."

She looked embarrassed. "I hope it wasn't about how terribly I was behaving yesterday. I am…I deeply regret my intrusion."

His heart started pounding. "You were only doing what you felt was right. You obviously care for my comfort, and I thank you for that." He paused, his brain screaming at him to say the words. "I don't have many friends," he admitted instead. "I'm very much used to being alone and caring for myself. It's a strange notion to have someone else worried for me. I wasn't sure how to take it when you expressed your concern."

She managed a shy smile. "I understand. After all, you did the same for me when I arrived here."

His grin felt more natural this time. He was being foolish. The affection he felt towards her was merely natural kinship. The weight that had been on his shoulders was suddenly lifted.

"I'm glad that we can be friends, Molly," he said.

She nodded. "I am as well." She paused. "I haven't really had a friend before."

His heart dropped in his chest, a lump forming in his throat. He stood and wrapped her in a warm embrace. "Then we'll both learn as we go, I suppose," he said, lightly pressing his lips to the top of her head.

* * *

Molly left Mr. Barrett's study with her heart afloat.

She had been so worried that their contact yesterday had led Mr. Barrett to dislike her, and she found that she was grateful to learn the opposite was true.

He cared for her. She had a friend.

For the first time in her life, she had a friend. And he was a good friend; a kind and intelligent man whose company she enjoyed. She could scarcely believe her luck.

To her amazement, she felt a few tears streaming down her cheeks. She shook her head, wanting to laugh. She hadn't been so emotional until she'd arrived here. Most days she simply couldn't believe her good fortune, and today was a special day indeed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely registered the presence of Mr. Ambrose, who was awaiting another meeting with Mr. Barrett and was doing his best to be conspicuous and appear indifferent at the same time – a new challenge for him.

He was immensely displeased to note that his efforts were futile.

His lip curled in frustration. She hadn't been pretending not to see him; she actually hadn't seen him. That was _not_ how this was supposed to happen.

Who, exactly, did she think she was?

His fists clenched tightly by his sides. She thought that she could just _ignore_ him? She thought that he would simply vanish? Hadn't she learned her damn lesson the night he'd brought her here? He was not a man who took well to being ignored.

"Bitch," he growled, feeling his fingernails bite into his palms as a black rage overtook him.

He stalked around the corner, intending to catch up to her and _make_ her see him. He stopped short when he saw her hastily wiping her face from the few tears that had trickled down her cheeks.

"Mr. Ambrose," she said, as if she was surprised to see him. "Is there something I can do for you?"

He tried not to smile at the way her voice shuddered and little sniffles punctuated her words. Through the still-dense fog of his anger, he felt a bolt of relief.

She hadn't been unaffected by his presence after all. He forced himself to feel a bit of pity for her – he really was hurting the poor girl.

"I'm looking for Mr. Barrett, Molly," he said, attempting to be gentle with her. "We have business to discuss."

"He's in his study," she replied. "Would you like me to let him know that you're here?"

He shook his head. "No, love. I'll go see him now."

She nodded uncertainly before turning and slowly continuing on her way. Ambrose watched her retreating figure with a small smile.

He might have her in an emotional state, but she was going to have to be the one to come to him.

"And you will," he whispered, staring intently at her shrinking form with his tongue snaking out through his lips. Grinning, he bit down on it, relishing the small jolt of pain that followed. "You will. Believe _that_ , my Molly May."

Feeling immeasurable satisfaction that one problem had been solved, he moved on to tackle another.

* * *

"I've given it some thought," Barrett said, chewing on his cheek.

" _Some_ thought?" Ambrose replied, raising an eyebrow. Wade chose to ignore him.

"I'd like to start offering the opportunity for one of your style of fight during our fight nights. We can see how the crowd will respond, we can see if we have men willing to even participate, and we can decide where to go depending on both of those factors." He glanced up at Ambrose. " _If_ we elect to do this, you'll be doing all the legwork for it. I'll be a silent partner."

Ambrose could barely contain his smile. Everything was, quite simply, going his way today.

"I understand," he replied, attempting to sound serious and thoughtful. In truth, he was simply giddy. He would finally – _finally_ – be able to get rid of some of his pent-up aggression.

"I want us to move this along slowly," Wade cautioned. "I want to see if it catches on."

"It will," Ambrose replied, trying very hard to keep his tone reassuring instead of annoyed. "You'll be surprised at how quickly it does. In the States –"

"We aren't in the States," Barrett interrupted him. "This is an entirely different population, which is what I've been trying to tell you."

Ambrose froze for a moment. "No," he agreed, thinking how it would be perfectly acceptable to shoot Barrett for his disrespect in his home country. "No, we certainly are not."

He quickly pulled back his caustic comments. He was so close to getting what he wanted; and his mouth could take it all away. He needed to be cautious.

"I still think that it will be a profitable venture," he recovered smoothly. "And I believe you'll see that result."

Barrett nodded, although his face remained sober. "Truthfully," he said slowly, "I'm doing this as a favor to you. Because I need a favor _from_ you as well."

Ambrose tried to keep his surprise from registering on his face. "I'm listening," he said carefully.

"We're going to have a visitor in a few weeks. I just received word. The man was a champion in your part of the world – supposedly, he's undefeated."

Ambrose felt his stomach drop. No. It couldn't be.

"Who is it?"

"His name is Alberto del Rio."

Relief flooded over him. "I've heard the name," he replied after pretending to consider it for a moment. "Mexican champion. Our paths never crossed." 'Thankfully,' he added mentally.

"He wants our best while he's here."

It took Dean a moment to figure out what Wade was asking. He grinned. "You want me to beat the tar out of a Mexican champion as your favor?"

"I think we should show him how tough our men are," Barrett answered cautiously. "Rumor has it that he's been saying no one can beat him."

Ambrose laughed. "Well. I like proving men like him wrong."

Barrett nodded. "That's what I'm counting on. So be ready."


	10. Chapter 10

Ambrose's usual whore was a tough blonde who understood his…proclivities. But tonight, after three long, sleepless nights, he required a different kind of release.

He placed a proper kiss on her outstretched hand – it wouldn't do to offend her – before moving on towards a girl he'd been watching for the last week or so. She was tall and willowy, with long brown hair and blue eyes.

She was impossible to distinguish from Molly, at least from the back. And that was the only angle he cared about this evening.

He could see the fear in her face as he approached her, and it made him smile. His reputation preceded him. The amount of money he flashed in front of her eyes quickly made her ignore her instincts, and he was very shortly being led up to her room.

She attempted to shove him down on the bed and straddle him, but he quickly moved away. Standing and pulling her to her feet, he turned her away from him and pressed against her back. He closed his eyes and forced himself to be gentle, in spite of the sudden urge to speed up.

Pulling her hair away from the nape of her neck, he dotted soft kisses along her skin while his hands lightly cupped her breasts.

"Mmm," the girl moaned, wriggling her hips against him.

His lip curled up in disgust. "Just…let me take the lead," he said, still trying to be kind.

"Of course, baby," she replied, attempting to insert a note of seduction into her voice. "We'll do whatever you want."

"Don't talk," he murmured, pushing her head to the side to allow him better access to her neck.

He closed his eyes again and attempted to play out his fantasy. It worked for a short while, and he began to slowly undress the woman in front of him.

That's when things went all wrong.

She moved too much, she moaned too loudly, her hips moved in ways that were completely unbelievable – and not in a good way.

He tried. He truly did.

"Please," he said, panting, "just lie still."

"You want me to act like I don't know a thing?" She'd asked, indignant as she craned her neck back to look at him. "You want me to act like some clueless virgin?"

"Yes," he replied desperately.

She laughed. "You _do_ know you're in a whorehouse."

He pulled away from her, agitated. This quickly turned into a cold anger. "I know precisely where I am," he replied calmly. "Do _you_ remember with whom you are speaking?"

He saw her eyes flash with fear once more, and after a tense moment she nodded.

"Good. Then I don't expect any further trouble from you. Just lie there," he snapped.

She finally did what she was told, but the moment – which he'd truly only had the most tenuous of holds on – slipped away.

He had a mediocre orgasm, finishing as quickly as he could and throwing the promised amount of money at the girl.

It was no use, he realized as he dressed.

There was simply no acceptable substitute for what he needed.

"Fucking hell, Molly," he muttered angrily. "Fucking _hell_."


	11. Chapter 11

Wade Barrett watched with some amusement as a red-faced Sheamus put on a burst of speed to beat Drew in a foot race, glancing at Molly to see if she'd noticed.

She hadn't.

He tried to keep from laughing – it wasn't very kind or decent of him, but he found the devolvement of his thirty-year-old mate into a teenage boy highly entertaining.

Molly jaunted up the stairs with her basket full of clean clothes, and Wade couldn't resist.

He nodded towards Sheamus. "He fancies you, you do realize?"

She turned to follow his gaze, and Sheamus immediately had cause to look elsewhere. "Who?" She asked, bewildered. "Drew?"

Wade laughed. "Good guess, but try the one who turns the same shade as the hair on top of his head whenever you glance in his direction."

Molly started to blush herself. "I don't notice that sort of thing," she replied flippantly, waving her hand dismissively.

"He's a good man."

"He is," she agreed, although she sounded very unenthusiastic.

"You could have a nice life with him," he pushed gently.

"Trying to marry me off already?" She teased.

He managed to grin. "And lose my one chance to have clean clothes and home-cooked meals every night? Absolutely not."

She rolled her eyes at him, although he could see a smile budding on her lips. "I see. So you were merely making me aware of the situation so I could let him down easily."

"I'm making you aware of the situation because I'm a tender-hearted fool who likes to interfere, and I'd be remiss to not put in a good word for a good friend."

She smiled. "Truly, you are too kind Mr. Barrett."

"To my detriment," he agreed dryly. He paused. "Are you ready for tonight?" He asked a bit more seriously. It was the first night he was allowing one of Ambrose's no-rules fights. He'd warned her that the injuries might be a bit more severe than usual.

She nodded, although the smile dropped off of her face. "I think so. I've been studying up on a few things in case the doc has his hands full with more pressing matters." Her smile returned weakly. "I guess it'll be a trial by fire."

He reached out and gently touched her arm before he even realized it. "You'll be fine," he said soothingly.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

He nodded. "You have my full confidence. Always." He didn't realize how somber those words were until they left his mouth, but he realized that he stood by them.

"Thank you," she replied, a small smile curling the corners of her lips. "It means a lot to me."

"Molly," a voice broke in. Wade groaned internally and turned his head to see his murderous bride standing in the doorway leading into the house. "I believe you have better things to do than stand here and chit-chat with my husband?"

The girl looked abashed, and he felt a profound annoyance bubble up in his chest as Molly stammered out an apology and quickly made her way in the house.

His wife stared at him with a mixture of smugness and anger before flouncing into the house after her.


	12. Chapter 12

Molly thought that she might be ready for the carnage coming her way that evening.

She realized somewhere between providing a metal pan for Mr. Ambrose to spit several teeth into and holding Mr. O'Shaughnessy upright while Doctor Callahan stitched a wide gash on his chin shut that she hadn't been quite as well-prepared as she would have liked.

Still, she tried to keep her stomach in check and detach herself from the situation. She managed well enough through the most urgent portions of their care.

Mr. O'Shaughnessy's blue eyes flickered over to her, and he smiled. "Perfect thing to see right when I wake up," he said before passing out again. It took the assistance of Mr. McIntyre and Mr. Barrett to bring him over to the cot in the corner, his feet dragging on the floor lifelessly.

Mr. Barrett turned and she could see how pale he was. His jaw was set hard in his face, and that was troubling.

"You nearly killed him," he growled at Mr. Ambrose.

"I told you," Mr. Ambrose replied patiently, spitting another mouthful of blood, "no rules." He nodded towards the Irishman. "He gave me a hell of a fight, if it's any sort of consolation. Any consolation in addition to the piles of money you can cry yourself to sleep in tonight, that is."

The fire in Mr. Barrett's eyes blazed brighter, and then extinguished suddenly. "You were right about that," he admitted, his fists relaxing from their clenched state. "But I'll have to consider if it's truly worthwhile."

Ambrose grinned smugly. "They've had a taste of it. People will be wanting more now. And if you can't supply them, they'll find someone else who will. Just consider that."

Barrett's fists clenched tightly again, but he nodded curtly and left the room. Mr. McIntyre, who had only been in a run-of-the-mill bareknuckle fight this evening and was not at all the worse for wear, followed suit.

Mr. Ambrose turned towards her, and a small smile lit his face. She could see the gaping holes in his mouth where his teeth had been, the remaining ones outlined starkly in bright red blood. She would dream of that bloody grin for a long time after this night.

"Molly," he said, and chills shot down her spine. It was the first time he'd addressed her directly in about a week. "Be a love and bring me a towel."

She nodded and went to retrieve one while the doctor looked him over. As she went to hand it to him, she saw that his knuckles were so bruised and bloody that gripping it would be an issue. Resigning herself to the project, she began to very gently clean the blood off of his face.

His blue eyes followed her intently, but he said nothing.

The doctor, muttering to himself, left the room just as Molly was finishing. With a strength and swiftness that surprised her, Ambrose managed to grip her wrist and pulled her down to him.

"Thanks darlin'," he said, pressing his lips against hers tightly. She gagged as the salty, coppery taste of his blood filled her mouth.

When she finally managed to wrench away from him, she was repulsed to see an amused smile push its way onto his lips.

She felt the wetness surrounding her mouth and realized that she had his blood smeared across her face. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and she attempted to keep herself from vomiting while he stared at her with that insufferable arrogant smile.

Her hand reached out before she gave it any conscious thought and slapped him across the mouth.

They were frozen for a moment, and Molly was horrified by what she'd just done. He turned his face back towards her, and she thought that she would suffer greatly for that action.

Instead, Mr. Ambrose laughed. It wasn't a laugh of pure amusement; there was a distinctly sinister quality to it – and a slight incredulity.

Terrified, Molly backed out of the room. Doctor Callahan could handle Mr. Ambrose's injuries without her. She bolted for her room and latched the door behind her, shoving a chair beneath the handle for good measure.

Once she was safe, she couldn't stop shaking.

* * *

Dean reflected on the evening that had passed with a quiet kind of serenity.

As quiet as it could be with a doctor attempting to reinsert teeth into your gums, that was.

Still, he was pleased. He was the victor of the night, and had a handsome sum in his back pocket to prove it. He felt alive for the first time in a very long time, and he could feel that he was no longer mentally on-edge. He'd even been able to steal a kiss from little Miss Molly, and that made it a fine night indeed.

He glanced back towards the giant Irishman slumbering in the too-small cot. He'd given him a hell of a fight, a damn good effort. But Ambrose had prevailed in the end. He always did.

He felt his fists clench shut just a little bit. All that bumbling idiot's actions around Molly had annoyed him immensely this past week. It had been a relief to hear that he was going to be allowed to beat the tar out of him and get paid for it.

Still, the man didn't get the hint he'd so kindly bludgeoned over his head. He'd heard him speaking to her during his brief period of wakefulness.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Molly wasn't coming to him because she was going to that oaf. He quickly dismissed the idea. He had made himself abundantly clear, and there was no way that any woman in her right mind would choose that lummox over him.

Right?

He mentally sighed, wincing a bit as Doctor Callahan jabbed his incisor back into its bloody socket.

There was no way for him to truly know what Molly was doing when he was elsewhere, and that thought was maddening. Now that his week had gotten better, he was able to admit his failure in this endeavor to bring her to him. He had laid his trap, and she wasn't springing it.

It was obviously time for a new approach, but what approach that would be had him absolutely puzzled.

To add a bit of desperation to the situation, he was still unable to sleep. He hoped that might change tonight, but he was practically dead on his feet from the previous endless nights. Not even whores had helped, which was unusual.

He could feel one of the small sane parts of his mind realizing that his curiosity of her had flamed into an obsession. Unable to sleep, unable to eat, unable to go about the necessities of daily living – he thought only of her.

That did add a new dimension to this problem. He found himself wondering if one roll between her sheets would satisfy him after all.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and felt the substantial bulge of bills press into his back.

The idea was sudden, swift, and absolutely perfect.

Barely able to contain himself, he leapt from the chair the moment Doctor Callahan had finished patching him up and raced out of the room, not stopping until he arrived at the door of Wade Barrett's study.

* * *

"You want to know _what_?" Barrett asked, obviously not hearing him correctly.

"I want to know how much debt Tom Parker is still in to you," Ambrose explained patiently, although he was quite obviously in an excited state.

"Why?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

Ambrose grinned. "I want to pay off his debt. Molly will come work for me in return."

Wade felt his stomach start roiling. "No," he replied immediately.

The other man raised an eyebrow. "You suddenly don't need the money?" He asked, his voice dropping into dangerous territory.

"That's not the case," Wade admitted. "But I won't send her off to be…mistreated…by you."

"I won't mistreat her," Ambrose scoffed.

"Regardless, the only way she'll leave this house and my employment is willingly. I'm not going to sell her off. She has a stable home here for the first time in her life."

Ambrose clenched his jaw and immediately regretted the action, feeling his repaired teeth wobble slightly. "So here she'll remain until she dies," he said flatly.

Wade nodded, hands laced across his chest. "Or until she marries." The expression on Ambrose's face at those words shot a bolt of fear through him. "Marries an acceptable partner of her choosing, of course," he added quickly.

"Acceptable partner?" Ambrose asked, studying his hands. Wade thought it might be to keep him from coming for his throat, and he was very glad for that.

"Steady man with a stable job and home," he elaborated. "Someone who will give her a good life."

"In other words, not me," Ambrose replied morosely, looking up to meet his eyes finally. Barrett noticed, for the first time, how worn he looked.

"Not you at the moment," Wade replied before his brain caught up. "You live in a boarding house with no savings to speak of. You drink. You carouse. I can't send her to live that way."

Ambrose considered his words with great care. "You are far too noble," he sneered. "Turning down money that could solve many problems for you for the care of one girl." He looked at him curiously. "It does make one _wonder_."

Wade glowered angrily, and yet weighed his next words carefully. "I have other money coming in now, thanks to _your_ brilliant venture. Had you approached me a week ago, why, my answer very well may have been different." He enjoyed the heat and regret that flew into Ambrose's eyes. "Now, however, I can choose to be…noble." He smiled at him and attempted to keep any malice out of it, a rather difficult task.

He watched with some amusement as Ambrose's lips curled and his head and shoulders twitched angrily for a few moments.

"What's all this talk about Molly anyway?" He asked once the other man had calmed. "You've never before indicated a burning desire to settle down."

Ambrose shrugged. "I'm getting older. It's expensive to pay a whore to take care of you in your golden years. Molly does well for you here, and I thought I wouldn't have to waste time courting her if I could just pay off her father's debt. But that won't be the case." He sighed. "I suppose I'll need to look elsewhere, then."

Barrett nodded thoughtfully, a painful ache in his chest that he hadn't been fully aware of loosening. "There will be no shortage of willing women. Good, willing women." 'Who aren't Molly,' he added mentally.

"I suppose you're right. Although those women will require work."

Wade smiled wryly. "All women require work, Mr. Ambrose. That's the unfortunate truth."

* * *

Ambrose turned over Barrett's words in his head. The unfortunate truth. He snorted. "The real unfortunate truth," he muttered, "is that you're too stupid to give me what I want before I take it from you."

He carefully turned the doorknob and lightly leaned against the door. It moved a few inches before stopping abruptly.

His mood took a quick turn for the worse. He was being denied at every turn, it seemed.

Molly clenched her knees to her chest, sitting bolt upright on her bed in the darkened room. She'd been unable to sleep, alert and listening to every creak the house made. She'd been sure she was imagining the sound of her door moving a few moments ago, but when the sound returned and a small sliver of light spilled in she knew that wasn't the case.

He was coming for her.

Her fear consumed her and she was entirely unable to move, watching as the chair rocked back and forth as he attempted to open the door with increasing violence.

"Molly?" Mr. Barrett's voice called from the other side of the door. "Are you all right in there?"

The relief that flooded through her was immense, and after gaining her bearings she stood and approached the door.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Just give me one moment."

He stopped fighting with the door and she quickly moved the chair aside. The second it was free, he pushed his way into the room with a concerned expression on his face.

"What happened?"

She shook her head, and he surprised her by stepping towards her and taking her chin in his hand, bringing her face up to his. "What happened?" He repeated slowly.

She could feel her lips quivering, but she attempted to steel herself. "Nothing," she lied.

"Did he hurt you?" Mr. Barrett's voice grew hard, and the anger in his eyes surprised and terrified her.

"Who?" She asked dumbly.

He regarded her sharply for a moment before, apparently satisfied with her ignorance, he loosened his grip on her. "Sit down," he said, nodding towards the bed. "We have something to discuss."

Fear blooming in her chest once more, she primly sat on the bed and watched him with wide eyes.

Suddenly, he seemed unsure.

"Mr. Ambrose approached me this evening," he finally said slowly. "He wanted to buy your father's debt from me. You would then be under his employ in return."

Her mouth fell open, and all of the air immediately left the room.

"I said no," he assured her quickly. "He then…he wanted to know about…" he paused and sighed heavily, sinking onto the bed beside her after a moment. Her heart picked up, and she wondered what could possibly be worse than Mr. Ambrose wanting her in his home.

"He wanted to know about marrying you," Mr. Barrett finally said, glancing at her to gauge her reaction. She attempted to keep her face still, although her heart was beating so hard that she was sure he could hear it.

"What did you say?" She finally asked.

"I said no."

All of the tension left her body in one instant. "Thank you," she murmured.

He smiled weakly. "I can hold him off for some time, but eventually he'll come to you."

She nodded, feeling sick. "That he will," she agreed.

"The choice will, of course, be yours…but I would advise against it."

"What choice will be mine?" She asked, confused.

"Whether you want to marry him or not," he replied, an attempt at an understanding smile on his face.

"No," she answered immediately, horrified. "No, certainly not."

For just one moment, his lips spread more widely into a natural smile of relief. He immediately pulled his face back into a neutral position.

"I'm glad to hear it," he admitted, lightly patting her knee. His hand lingered for a moment, his thumb lightly tracing over the line of her leg.

She glanced over at him, and he met her eyes. He knew that he should remove his hand, but his brain was having a difficult time communicating that notion into actual movement. She didn't pull away, and he reached up to brush her hair back over her shoulder.

He wanted to run his fingers over her neck; he wanted to feel the way her heart beat beneath his fingertips.

It was then that he moved away, pulling his hand back as if her flesh burned his. In a way, it did.

"I'll leave you to get some rest," he said, placing his hands in his lap. "I just thought you should be aware what's coming for you."

She nodded. "Thank you. I'll…think of something."

"If he gives you any trouble, tell me."

"I will," she lied.

He smiled and nodded, although it was easy to see something was troubling him. He stood abruptly and left quickly, not stopping until he was back in his own room.

"Fucking hell, Molly," he muttered, not knowing that his own sentiments had been uttered by another man a mere day before. "Fucking _hell_."


	13. Chapter 13

An eerie calm descended over the house after that night.

Mr. O'Shaughnessy recovered and sheepishly asked if he'd said anything foolish. Molly assured him that he hadn't.

Mr. Ambrose maintained a respectable distance, although she often caught him looking at her with frank curiosity – and sometimes unfathomable anger – on his face.

Most troubling of all, Mr. Barrett became unsociable towards her. She only had a few hours to worry over this development before Mrs. Barrett remembered they were expecting to receive a guest – the name escaped her – by week's end and put her to work.

After three days of heavy cleaning, the house had never looked better. And all of Molly's concerns about Mr. Barrett, Mr. Ambrose, and, to a lesser extent, Mr. O'Shaughnessy seemed to fly away. She had no stored energy to worry about anything, save where the screeching Mrs. Barrett would send her next.

Exhausted beyond comprehension, she collapsed into bed that third evening and slept immediately.

While the rest of the house slept, Dean Ambrose crept back to Molly's room. The door had been locked these past few nights, and he had no reason to believe tonight would be different.

He had tried to create a course of action, but his mind was simply too muddled by potent desire.

He couldn't stay away from her. He knew that much for certain.

With little hope, he tried the door – and was astounded when the knob turned in his hand.

He froze for a moment, his heart racing, before pushing forward with great care.

She was asleep, her body curled tightly and her hair spread across her pillow in soft waves. He merely watched her for a few moments, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest while she dreamed.

He felt a familiar tugging in his stomach and groin; the ache of wanting being visited upon him once again.

There would be no way to stop this.

Gently, oh-so-gently, he made his way to the bed and slid in beside her, pressing his chest against her back. She barely stirred.

For a few moments, he contented himself with the feel of her warm body against his. He inhaled the clean scent of her hair, nuzzled his face into her neck, lightly touched her soft breasts. He could pretend, if only for a moment, that she was willingly allowing him to do these things. That she wanted him in the same way he wanted her.

"Oh darling," he murmured quietly into her neck, his hand sliding down to her thighs. "Why do you torture me so?"

He slipped his fingers into her panties and began touching her, his flesh quickly becoming reacquainted with hers.

She sighed in her sleep and pushed her hips towards him. After several minutes of light stroking, he carefully pushed her onto her back and made his way between her thighs.

And there he was several moments later, when Molly awoke gasping and panting. "What-?" She asked, trying to wrench away from him.

Ambrose, knowing that this might happen, had wrapped his arms tightly around her hips to keep her pinned to him. "Shh," he said, drunk on the taste of her. "You'll wake everyone up."

He started mimicking the previous actions of his fingers with his tongue, and any protests Molly might have had were gone. Her heart was racing in her chest, her body tensing while she throbbed in a not-unpleasant way.

"Please," she murmured, although she didn't know if she was pleading with him to stop or continue. The way her hips began to rock against his face, she gathered that she wanted him to continue on.

Suddenly, he pulled away from her and knelt between her spread thighs. She could see that his face was wet around the mouth – wet from her, she was horrified to realize.

"I'll finish you," he said calmly, "but only if you help me."

"Help you with what?"

He smiled lazily. She wasn't screaming for help. He took that as a good sign.

"I've touched you once, and now I'm kissing you," he reminded her gently, taking her hand and running it down his bare chest. "I should at least get the same in return, don't you think?"

He noticed the fear in her eyes. "It won't hurt you," he promised. "Think of it as…practice…for when you're married."

"Married women do this?" She asked, skeptical.

"The good wives do. You _do_ want to be a good wife someday, don't you?"

"Yes, but not to you," she replied boldly.

He laughed. "So Mr. Barrett had a little chat with you, I take it? Molly," he murmured, bending down to kiss her neck. "I don't want to marry you," he whispered in her ear. "I just want to fuck you."

"Get out," she replied immediately, putting her hands on his shoulders and attempting to shove him away.

"Shut up," he answered evenly.

He felt more than saw her attempt at a scream, and slapped her hard across the face to stifle it.

"Do you think I'm playing?" He asked calmly. "Do you believe that this is some game you and I are engaged in?" He paused before gripping her chin tightly in his hand and forcing her to look into his eyes. "I don't play games when it doesn't suit me, Molly. Playing games with you stopped suiting me about a week ago. Now I'm just going to take what I want from you."

"Please," she said, shaking her head.

He felt a twinge of sympathy and reached down to stroke her face. "Believe it or not," he said slowly, "it will be better this way. You give me what I need, and I'll leave you alone. You won't have to be worried any longer."

He could see the warring emotions on her face. She was disgusted and angry, but also curious and still clouded by her physical arousal. He thought it might bode well for him.

"No," she said, so quietly at first that he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

When he bent closer to her and opened his mouth to ask what she'd said, her head came up abruptly and smashed into his face.

Immediately, he let go of her hands as his eyes watered and blood began leaking from his nose.

"Oh you bitch," he muttered, reaching for her – but she had wriggled away from him and was out of the bed, heading towards the small writing table. As he stood, she gripped the chair beside her tightly in two hands and brought it up off the ground in front of her.

"Get out," she growled.

He managed to pull his expression of disgust into an unconcerned smile. "Do you really think that's going to stop me?"

He lunged for her, and she brought the chair up further and swung it into his ribs with surprising strength.

The air immediately left his lungs and he fell to the floor.

"Get out," she repeated, kicking him angrily. "And don't you _dare_ come back."

He caught her foot and stared up in her face for a moment before she brought her weight down on his larynx. His breathing, already labored and painful, became nearly impossible.

After several seconds, she let up her weight.

Without any hesitation, he crawled to the door and left immediately, not sparing a glance backward.

* * *

Back in his own dingy room, he studied his reflection in the dirty mirror. Dried blood mottled over his face, and a bruised throat and swollen lip completed the picture.

He inhaled viciously on a cigarette, ignoring the burning that accompanied his every inhalation.

That fucking cunt.

"She thinks this is over," he muttered. "This isn't over."

He briefly wondered where – and how – she had learned how to fight so effectively. He dismissed this thought once he realized that he didn't give a fuck.

The only thing he cared about was that she had hurt him.

And she was going to pay.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean Ambrose arrived at Wade Barrett's house the following morning with a bruised throat and a puffy upper lip, as well an eye that had surprisingly swollen and blackened during the night.

He'd slept little, as he was becoming accustomed to doing.

At some point around three in the morning, his rage had faded to anger. Unfortunately, most of the items in his room had suffered the results of that emotion and would need to be replaced.

That was at the bottom of his list of worries.

At the top was re-establishing his dominance with little Miss Molly Parker. She had been afraid of him not too long ago, and in his careless pursuit of bedding her he'd lost that edge.

"What the hell happened to you?" An Irish brogue broke into his thoughts.

He smiled easily. "Had a little altercation," he replied, walking slowly towards Sheamus. Molly was working in the same room, her back slightly turned from them – but he could see the interest on her face.

"What's the other bloke looking like this morning?" Sheamus asked, clapping him on the back heartily.

Ambrose swallowed down his annoyance at the friendly nature the other man was displaying. He was uncommonly cheerful this morning, and he suspected that Molly had something to do with that. "Unfortunately, not nearly as bad as this. Not yet, anyway."

He could see Molly's back stiffen. Good.

The smile on Sheamus' face dropped off, but only slightly. "Just try not to be too hard on the man," he warned. "Anybody that could get the drop on you and walk away the better party is no one to be trifled with."

"It was luck, pure and simple," Ambrose replied. "I wasn't prepared." He paused and said his next words very clearly. "I will be next time."

Molly's head turned very slightly towards him, and he turned to look at her in kind. "Good morning, Miss Molly," he called. "I didn't see you there at first, my _darling_ ," he snarled the last word, seeing Sheamus' expression change to one of suspicion. Not that it worried him at all; the Irishman had an intelligence quota on par with a box of potatoes.

"Mr. Ambrose," she replied reluctantly, nodding before making her way out of the room. He resisted the urge to follow, but only barely.

There was other business to attend to this morning. Miss Molly would, unfortunately, have to wait.

* * *

Molly had been dreading today long before the unpleasant business with Mr. Ambrose.

It was the last day before the esteemed guest – whom she still knew nothing about – was to arrive. It would have been a miserable day even without the added fear and uncertainty surrounding the lunatic in her parlor.

She had to stuff down a smile at the thought. She was being ridiculous. It wasn't her parlor; not even close. The rest, however, was spot on.

She had tried to see the humor in her situation since her sleepless night after Mr. Ambrose had left. She had her moments, but mostly she found herself struck by paralyzing fear.

First, that the man had been so bold – to enter her room, to violate her while she was sleeping…it was a terrifying notion.

Second, she had hated the way she felt after being physically violent. She knew that it was merely self-defense, and that she had done what was necessary to protect herself. Still, she hadn't enjoyed the experience.

Third…third. She mentally emitted a large sigh. The third horrific thought was that if he hadn't attempted to force her into reciprocity, she would have let him continue on with what he was doing.

She couldn't say why that was, precisely, other than the fact that it had physically felt wonderful. Mentally, at the time, she was a jumbled mess – she loathed the man, but found that she enjoyed the things he was capable of doing to her.

How could that be possible? She'd been turning the thoughts over in her head all night. She'd been taught that love was a key component of desire, but several instances – including Mr. Barrett's plight with his ghastly wife – were causing her to re-think this notion.

Could she physically desire a man she found otherwise repugnant?

Apparently so.

This was a troubling realization for several reasons. It had shattered her views on the relationship between love and intimacy. And, more importantly…she wasn't sure that she would be so willing to continue fighting him off.

He'd awakened something in her; a desire that she had never before felt. She wanted more of the kind of attention he was giving her. She found herself distracted by it, giving in to wicked thoughts in her few idle moments.

It came to a question of how she should handle this situation.

He had said that if she gave in, he would leave her alone. She could sate her curiosity and her growing appetite. Purity wasn't necessarily a concern of hers; she'd simply never been close enough to another human being to have the opportunity to become impure before.

It wouldn't ruin her chances of marriage, if she truly had any at all. She had heard that there were ways she could avoid carrying his child. Logically, it made sense.

But she still found herself hesitating.

In truth, Mr. Ambrose frightened her deeply. From the first night she'd encountered him, he had made it plain that there was something off in his mind. She couldn't be sure that he would simply want her once, or that he would leave her unharmed after the fact.

This left her in an interesting predicament. She could refuse him and remain unsatisfied, she could give in and possibly be harmed, or she could refuse him, find another willing partner, and still possibly be harmed.

There was no preferable situation. If she had to choose, she was going to continue refusing him. It still might lead to him harming her eventually, but it was the only situation with the least harmful dire consequences outright.

Her mind nervously settled on this course of action, and she continued on with her work.

* * *

Wade Barrett decided, rather uneasily, to keep Mr. Ambrose behind the rest of the men that morning.

He'd called everyone together to briefly go through the match-ups for the next round of fights, which were to take place in two days. Mr. Ambrose would be fighting Alberto del Rio at that time, and Barrett could see the apathy written over his face.

He refused to be embarrassed by the man.

"Have you read any of the scouting material I've given you?" He asked once they were alone, pointedly ignoring his mess of a face.

"Nope," he replied easily, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers across his stomach. "Don't need to."

"I really think you should."

Dean shrugged. "I'll handle him like I always handle unknown opponents. And I'll win."

Wade shook his head. "I think you should reconsider that stance. Especially seeing as someone got the better of you last night." Dean's head snapped up and he glared angrily at Wade. "You're losing your focus, and it's becoming a detriment to your abilities," he stated simply.

Dean glanced away and sniffed angrily, his teeth clenched tightly in his jaw. "You're right," he admitted. "I have lost my focus." He glanced back to Wade and smiled, although it was a tight and fabricated expression. "Your little Miss Molly is to blame," he said bluntly. "I can't stop thinking about her."

The surprise was apparent on Barrett's face, but only for a moment. "You're going to let yourself get distracted by a passing fancy?"

Ambrose shook his head. "It's more than that. Any time another man goes near her, I want to kill him with my bare hands. I can't sleep at night. I can't think clearly. That girl should be _mine_ , and it's ruining my entire life that she isn't."

"You hardly know her."

"I know her better than you think," he snapped. "She's the first…the only…woman to have this effect on me. It's maddening." He looked at Barrett and decided to go for broke. " _Please_. Give her to me. She won't be mistreated."

Wade sat in stunned silence for several moments, unable to believe that the closest thing to a declaration of love that Ambrose was capable of had just spilled out of his mouth.

"I can't give another person's life away," he answered. "If Molly chooses you, so be it. I wish you all the happiness in the world. But if she doesn't…." He leaned forward and met Ambrose's eyes directly. "If she doesn't, you will leave her alone. Do you understand me?"

"I'll never be able to leave her alone," he replied. "Do _you_ understand _me_?"

Barrett shook his head. "Truly, I do not. And I doubt that I ever will. There _are_ other women."

Ambrose could feel the logic of his words, even as his mind rebelled against them. _This_ woman was the only one that mattered. He couldn't explain it to himself, much less another man.

Instead, he merely shook his head in agitation. After several moments, he stood and abruptly walked out the door, leaving a stunned Wade Barrett in his wake.

* * *

Wade considered his conversation with Mr. Ambrose quite heavily throughout the rest of the day. He wondered if he should tell Molly that this was more serious than previously thought, and quickly dismissed the idea.

She was already frightened. There was no need for her to become panicked. Ambrose promised he wouldn't mistreat her, and if he did have a scrap of caring for her he would keep his word.

Something still didn't sit right about the situation, and he chewed his lower lip bloody trying to figure it out.

Ambrose had said that he knew Molly more than their casual acquaintance would dictate. Barrett hadn't seen them interact at all, beyond Ambrose's feeble attempts at communicating with her being immediately, albeit politely, shut down.

There was something else at play here, something that was just beyond his reach.

He shook his head impatiently, trying desperately to grasp the thought.

It circled back around to this – he had never before seen Ambrose act this way. True, he had only known the man for the last year of his life. Yet he had always had a casual regard for women, and not just the whores he frequented.

The whores had, in fact, been Barrett's idea. Ambrose had stirred up a decent bit of trouble when he'd arrived and joined up with his team – there wasn't a neighbor's daughter or wife that had kept her skirt down around him for the first month of his residency. It had led to a lot of broken hearts and bones before Wade had intervened.

Why Molly had caught his attention so deeply he couldn't say…and that troubled him. He knew Ambrose well enough to know that he wouldn't stop, and he thought he knew Molly well enough to know that she wouldn't give in.

He could see the disaster ahead bearing down on him, but he was unsure of how he could reasonably stop it.

He thought, again, about sending Molly away and his heart clenched painfully. His only source of comfort would be gone, and Ambrose would never forgive him. Truthfully, he was unsure if even that would stop his pursuit. Mr. Ambrose could be very…determined…when denied something he wanted.

"Fucking hell," he muttered angrily. He'd been visited by nothing but trouble since Ambrose had brought that girl here. If she wasn't…if he didn't….

He shoved those thoughts away quickly. Molly wasn't the trouble; Ambrose was, and it was important to remember that.

He couldn't take away her fresh start, her new life, to appease one highly unstable man. He knew that he should, but he simply could not bring himself to that action.

Part of it was selfish, but another part was entirely selfless. It mattered to him that she had a good life, no matter where she might live it. The selfish part was that he wanted her to live it in his presence.

She'd done what his wife had failed to do for many years, he realized. In only a few short weeks, she had made his house their home.


	15. Chapter 15

The situation with Ambrose gnawed at him all day. Finally, once things had settled for the evening – in truth, once his wife had stopped barking orders and retired to her bedroom with a glass of sherry – he elected to speak with Molly about it.

She looked exhausted as she trudged into his office, barely able to keep her eyes open, and he thought that he'd have a private word with his darling wife later about ensuring her health and well-being.

He gestured her to the sofa and poured them both a stiff drink. They were going to need it.

She accepted it warily, her eyes already asking what fresh Hell was about to fall on her head.

He curled one side of his lip up in an attempt to ease her mind, but knew that it wouldn't be sufficient. He elected, instead, to dive right in to the matter at hand.

"Mr. Ambrose," he said simply, watching her eyes fill with dread…but no surprise.

"What now?" She asked, taking her first drink. It was a substantial one.

"How well does he know you?"

Molly shifted in her seat uncomfortably, her thoughts immediately turning towards the pilfered diary. "Not as well as he thinks."

Mr. Barrett smiled. "He seems to believe otherwise, and that seems to be driving very…powerful emotions towards you." He paused, noticing how defeated she looked.

"I won't interject my personal opinion again – unless you ask, of course," he continued, "but I promise you that any decision you make will be supported entirely."

She shook her head and fell silent for several moments before leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "Sometimes I think…." She trailed off momentarily. He kept silent, sensing that whatever she was going to say was difficult for her.

"Sometimes I think I should just let him have me," she finally said. "It would stop this madness."

He glanced down, his suspicions confirmed. There was, indeed, more that was happening behind the scenes than he had been aware of.

"Has he hurt you?"

"No. That's the problem."

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and she glanced at him blushing before looking away again immediately.

He felt heat rise to his own cheeks, his heart racing in his chest. "Were you forced?" He asked, his voice coming out in a low growl.

"I…it's hard to explain," she said after a moment. "He hasn't…we haven't…." She took a hearty swallow of her drink and stood immediately to pour herself another.

"How can I physically want someone I abhor?" She finally made up her mind to ask bluntly, keeping her back turned towards him. "It doesn't make sense to me that I can loathe the man but desire his touch."

He felt a small aching stab in his chest and promptly ignored it. "It's an interesting question," he replied slowly, rolling his own glass between his long fingers. "Am I correct in assuming that, prior to your interactions with Mr. Ambrose, you hadn't experienced anything like…that?" He was stumbling like a fool over his words, and he hated the idea of invading her privacy in such a way.

"You would be correct, yes," she replied, turning back and making her way towards him again. He pointedly ignored the stiffness in her tone, the bright red heat on her face.

"Then I don't believe you necessarily want the man as much as the continued experience. He made a strong connection between himself and…. Perhaps it's not desire so much as a mental association."

He could almost feel the relief rolling off of her, and he was grateful for that. His mood, however, had darkened considerably.

He'd told Ambrose to stay away. He'd told him to let it go.

And, as always, Ambrose had ignored him and gone his own way. He'd violated her, pure and simple – whether Molly was confused about that fact or not, Wade was entirely sure that was how it had occurred.

"You're upset with me," Molly said flatly, breaking into his thoughts.

"No," he replied immediately, shaking his head and reaching for her hand. "Never, love. I'm upset with Mr. Ambrose. He took advantage of you."

She fell into miserable silence, regretting the trouble this would cause already. She had a mental image of her tongue in a jar, and quickly shoved it away. She'd said nothing. It wasn't her fault that Mr. Barrett was intelligent enough to work it out.

His hand gave hers a warm squeeze. "Molly," he said gently. "Look at me."

She glanced up into his gray eyes, and he managed a small smile. "You've done nothing wrong."

She nodded, but felt her own eyes filling with tears. She tried to push them away, but embarrassingly they came anyway.

She hadn't realized just how much she'd needed to hear that she hadn't been the one encouraging Mr. Ambrose's behavior.

Mr. Barrett pulled her down onto his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

* * *

"Isn't this _adorable_ ," a harsh voice woke him the next morning.

Wade opened his eyes, squinting against the unforgivingly brilliant sunlight, to see his wife standing before him with her arms crossed over her chest.

He felt weight on him and glanced down to see that Molly was still wrapped tightly around his chest, one hand resting close to his heart. Awkwardly enough, her other hand had dropped during the night and rested on his thigh, quite close to an erection that was substantial enough to threaten bursting through his pants.

As gently as he could, he dislodged himself from her grip and lightly placed her entirely onto the sofa before turning back to his wife.

She glanced down at his crotch, a smirk on her face. "Let me guess; she didn't know what to do with that," she snapped.

"Out," he growled. "Now."

She raised her eyebrows. "This is _my_ home, Mr. Barrett, and I will go where I please."

He stepped towards her and roughly grabbed her arm, dragging her out the door. She attempted to protest, but he clamped a hand over her mouth.

"If you won't give me any damned human companionship or comfort, I'll seek it out elsewhere," he said once they were clear of the room and the door shut behind them. "She's a nice kid, and I have a great deal of affection for her."

"Obviously," his wife replied dryly, glancing down again.

He rolled his eyes. "Men are aroused in the morning regardless of their sleeping circumstances. _You_ should know that."

She went still. "What are you implying?"

"I imply nothing. I'm saying it outright. Do you really think I'm not aware of your nighttime company? Say what you will about me, but at least I've kept to my vows." He stepped towards her and grabbed her arms roughly. "You've already ruined so much of my life. Don't you _dare_ think about taking away the one true friend I've managed to find in this hell you've put me in."

She opened her mouth and closed it in rapid succession, blinking in surprise. Finally, miraculously, she simply nodded instead of saying another word, and he let her go.

She rushed away immediately, and he was both relieved and concerned. When Abigail felt she'd been bested, she usually returned with a fierceness that was unmatched.

Unfortunately, he feared that this was not the end of the situation.

Closing his eyes against the impending headache, he elected to simply return to his study, return to the sofa, and continue his peaceful slumber with Molly. He didn't give a damn how it looked; it was the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

She was still asleep when he returned, her body curled tightly and an expression of deep peace on her face. He smiled.

Carefully, he contorted himself back into place so that she was once again resting on his chest. She gave a soft, contented moan and snuggled her face against his shirt. His heart picked up its pace immediately, and he gently stroked a hand down her back in response.

"Should go to bed," she murmured softly, attempting to sit up.

"You're fine where you are, love," he replied, gently pushing her back.

"Mmm," she replied, her voice already full of sleep as she re-adjusted herself and pitched back into what he hoped were pleasant dreams.

He dozed on and off, waking finally when she sat up abruptly.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her eyes wide.

He managed a gentle smile, quickly contorting his lap so that she couldn't see his arousal. "Don't be," he replied, lightly taking her hand. "Best sleep I've had in ages."

She smiled in return. "Me too," she admitted.

He suddenly felt his smile fade, and could see the resulting confusion in her eyes. He moved closer to her and put both hands on her shoulders, lightly stroking the sides of her neck. Cautiously, he brought his thumb up and stroked it over her cheek before moving it to trace over the line of her lips.

She didn't pull away. Her lips parted slightly and he could feel her heart beating with increasing speed.

"Molly," he said tenderly, but his voice sounded far away to his own ears.

"Y-yes?"

"Would you be offended if I kissed you?"

His heart was pounding for the few seconds it took her to answer.

"No."

He leaned forward slowly, closing his eyes only a split second before their lips were going to touch.

It was then, of course, that his door flew open and the chattering crowd of men arrived for the day.


	16. Chapter 16

Molly rushed out of the room quickly, taking care to avoid the eyes of Mr. Ambrose on her way out.

Thankfully, it seemed that no one had seen herself and Mr. Barrett in their compromising position – Mr. McIntyre had been at the head of the group and had been looking back, discussing something with Mr. O'Shaughnessy.

Mr. Barrett had looked annoyed at the intrusion and had then told her that she could take the day and get some sleep before their guest arrived this evening. She had accepted gratefully and hurried back to her room, where she now sat in a dazed silence on her bed.

She had told Mr. Barrett about her encounters with Mr. Ambrose. Not in great detail, certainly, but she had made him aware of the situation. She had fallen asleep, comforted by being wrapped in his arms.

Then he had wanted to kiss her. And she had wanted him to do so.

She moved between confusion and frustration.

Mr. Barrett was married. Unhappily, yes, but still legally bound to another. Neither of them should have pursued this avenue. And it puzzled her that he would want to do so after hearing that Mr. Ambrose had already been intimate with her.

Still, she found that when his lips had been so close to hers that these other circumstances simply didn't matter.

She was forced to face the truth. Mr. Barrett wasn't purely her friend. When he touched her, she felt her stomach and heart flutter with an emotion that was anything but platonic. She had tried to tell herself that she was mistaking his kindness for something more, but after this morning she knew that to be untrue.

Resting her weary head in her hands, she couldn't help but understand that the reason she'd avoided this realization was because it hurt.

He was a good man, probably the best one she had encountered in her short life, and there was simply no way that she could be with him.

He was too stupidly noble to leave his wife, and she refused to be his mistress.

So, then. That was that.

Her shoulders slumped and a few tears rolled out of her eyes.

"No sense, Molly girl," she murmured to herself, wiping her cheeks. "No sense in sadness. You'll find another man who is just as lovely and much more available."

She didn't believe any of those words, but saying them out loud seemed to help.

Feeling exhaustion creep up on her, she elected to bathe before attempting a few hours of sleep.

The warm water soothed her body slightly, although it did not ease her troubled, pained thoughts. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mr. Barrett leaning towards her. The knowledge that she could never allow him to be that close again created a hollow ache in her chest.

Finally, with little hope for restful sleep, she turned off the flowing water and reached her hand out of the curtain for the towel she'd hung on the hook.

Her hand patted along the wall for several minutes, her brows folding together in confusion as she continued to touch wall and not towel.

Shaking her head at her absent-mindedness, she pulled the curtain back completely and jumped back abruptly, attempting to cover herself with her hands.

"Towel?" Mr. Ambrose asked innocently, holding the one she'd brought in out to her.

* * *

"Wh-Wh-Wh…" She stammered, and Ambrose rolled his eyes in annoyance. It was a good thing he didn't require intelligence in a woman.

He offered her his hand, and when she didn't take it he put his arms under her elbows and bodily removed her from the shower.

Pausing for a moment to admire her gleaming, naked flesh, he wrapped the towel around her. "Miss Molly," he said, grinning. "We have a matter to discuss."

She closed her eyes and he could see the fear change her body. He waited patiently until she opened them again.

"What is it, Mr. Ambrose?" She asked, clutching the towel around her more tightly.

His smile took on a sinister quality as he pointed wordlessly to his eye.

She hesitated. "I'm sorry for that," she said at last, surprising him. "You startled me that night. I was defending myself the best way I knew how."

He took a moment to consider her words. "Fair enough, my love."

She looked suspicious. He tried to keep his smile as normal as he could. "Just give me a kiss, and all will be forgiven."

Oh, she didn't like that idea. It was written all over her face. He maintained a placid expression, waiting to see which course she would take.

Leaning forward, she lightly placed her lips against his before pulling back nearly immediately.

"Oh Molly," he said, shaking his head. "Darling, you know that wasn't good enough."

He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist, the other hand gripping her gently by the hair. With no hesitation, he bent and kissed her intensely, parting her lips with his tongue. He was surprised when she attempted to kiss him back, her motions fumbling and uneducated. It was, in a way, endearing.

He pulled away after several seconds, smiling, and rested his forehead against hers. "Sweetheart," he murmured gently, "if you really thought that was all I was going to need, you are one stupid bitch."

Before she could react, he slammed her head into the tiled wall. With a great measure of satisfaction, he watched her crumple in his arms.

* * *

He was waiting when she finally came to again, standing calmly beside her bed. He hadn't felt this peaceful in a very long time.

She glanced up at him, her fear apparent in her eyes. He smiled toothily.

"Molly," he sighed, "Molly, Molly, Molly." He knelt beside her and lightly ran his fingers over her breast and down her abdomen. "I thought quite a bit about how to pay you back. I can't mark up that pretty face of yours, or people would be suspicious. And the last thing I want is for anyone to know about the fun we're having."

She rattled her wrists against the ropes that pinned her arms to the headboard, her eyes growing wider. "I couldn't risk you running away from me again," he explained. "That was very unfortunate the other evening."

He continued stroking his hands over her, occasionally lightly pinching the nipples on each of her breasts. "And as far as your mouth, well, I couldn't have you screaming. My hands and…other body parts…I intend to be otherwise occupied. You understand, I hope."

He watched two large tears spill out of her eyes and onto the blue swatch of cloth he'd tied over her mouth and knotted at the back of her head.

"Shall we begin, my love?" He asked, staring at the pink nipples that had become hard with his stroking. "We have such a limited time together today."

He stood and unbuckled his belt, dropping his trousers and stepping out of them before joining her on the bed, pulling her thighs apart roughly to kneel between them.

He bent and took her right nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue for several moments before switching to the left. His fingers slid between her thighs, where he could feel her getting warmer and wetter the more he toyed with her nipples.

Finally, he rested his chin directly in between her breasts and stared at her face. Her eyes were closed. "Molly, look at me," he commanded.

She opened her eyes reluctantly. "You will never lay a hand on me like that again. Do you understand?"

She nodded quickly.

"Do you really?" He asked, his eyes narrowing and his head tilting. "I don't believe you do."

She again nodded.

He moved up her body to lie beside her, his fingers stopping and pulling away. She looked relieved, an expression that wouldn't last long on her face.

"You're a lying bitch," he snarled directly in her face, reaching one hand out to wrap around her throat and the other to slap her breasts painfully, twisting and tweaking her nipples for good measure.

When she was close to fainting again from the lack of oxygen, he pulled his hand away. She was going to stay awake for all of this.

Bending his head, he bit into her breasts brutally, relishing the muffled screams that came from beneath her gag, her body stiffening in pain beside him.

He stopped just as quickly as he had started. Standing, he returned to his trousers to retrieve a small knife from his pocket. He clicked it open, pleased by the renewed fear in her face.

He straddled her chest, clicking the knife open and closed several times while she watched. "I'm going to remove this," he said, gesturing towards the gag. "I have a nice use in mind for that mouth of yours. If you scream, or if you bite – I'll cut your throat and fuck the hole I leave in your neck. Am I clear?"

She started sobbing, and he slapped her across the face. "Focus, for fuck's sake," he snarled. "Do you understand me?"

She nodded, and after several seconds he reached behind her and pulled the knot free, allowing the fabric to fall to the side.

She didn't scream. It might have been the first intelligent thing she'd done today as far as he was concerned.

"Have you ever sucked a man's dick?" He asked bluntly. She shook her head. "Have you even seen a dick before?" She shook her head again, and he grinned. What an unexpected treat – he would be taking her virginity in multiple ways today.

He stood and pulled his shorts off. "Look at me." She glanced over, keeping her eyes resolutely above his waist. He stepped forward and put his erection directly in front of her nose. "Look," he repeated.

She looked for several seconds before he grew impatient. "Open your mouth."

Her lips parted slightly. "Wider." She complied hesitatingly. "Stick out your tongue." Once she had done that, he began to lightly run the underside of his cock over her tongue, from tip to base. He watched her expression while he did it, amused at the grim determination she had to survive this.

He pulled away and slapped her cheek with his dick a few times before simply shoving it in her mouth. "Suck," was the only instruction he gave before proceeding to thrust into her mouth, making sure to go deeper each time.

He could feel her choking on him, attempting to maintain suction at the same time. Maybe she was learning who ran things around here after all.

It wouldn't save her today, but it was a comfort to know that these little lessons might make the future easier for both of them.

Finally, he pulled away and looked down at her. Her face was screwed up in concentration, attempting to keep the flood of tears back.

"You did well, sweetheart," he murmured, bending and kissing her forehead before moving down to kneel between her thighs. "You did so well, in fact, that I'm going to give you a choice."

She looked at him warily as he began rubbing his wet, hard dick against her clit.

"Do you want me to take your maidenhead?"

"No," she replied immediately.

He tried to keep the smile from his face and failed. "Are you sure?" He asked, pushing part of the way inside of her. It took all his resolve to not continue forward when her walls squeezed him tightly.

"Yes."

With a false sigh of reluctance, he pulled out of her. "Put your legs on my shoulders."

She did so with hesitation, and he reached down to gently part her buttocks. Pressing his erection against the rough bunch of muscles, he grinned wickedly at her.

"Just remember," he grunted, preparing to push forward, "I gave you a choice."

* * *

It seemed to last forever.

The pain was unbearable, and Mr. Ambrose slapped her several times in the face before simply replacing the gag. That, at least, allowed her to scream.

After a fashion, she had felt him growing larger inside of her and his breath came out in harsh, ragged pants. She had felt a new stickiness as he pulled out of her for the last time and an uncomfortable sensation of fluid running out of her.

He had knelt there for several minutes, his chest moving rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. Finally, he stood and went for the towel that had been abandoned at the start of this encounter. She watched in horror as he wiped blood – her blood – off of his now-flaccid penis and abdomen.

He looked at her in disgust before he threw the towel on the bed beside her. Gripping the knife he'd had before, he quickly cut the rope that bound her hands.

"Clean yourself up, you filthy slut," he snarled. Numbly, she went about following his instructions, horrified at the amount of bright red blood there seemed to be.

He watched her as he dressed, enjoying the way her hands shook.

When he was done, he stepped towards her and gripped her by the hair, pulling her head back. Bending down, he kissed her roughly.

"I'll see you soon, sweetheart. Get some rest. We have a busy night ahead of us."


	17. Chapter 17

Molly sat in stunned silence on the bed.

She had just been through a flurry of activity; stripping the sheets and finding new, clean ones and putting herself back in the shower.

She'd kept the curtain open this time, waiting for Mr. Ambrose to return for another round.

Thankfully, he didn't reappear.

She tried to ignore the pain. She tried to forget what had just happened, pretending as if it were merely a nightmare.

It didn't work.

She felt disgusting and dirty. She was ashamed of what he had done to her, and she was angry for thinking at any moment that she actually might escape that fate. She should have jumped into action sooner; she should have fought back.

Did she want that on some level? She had lie there, totally complicit. She had let him violate her with hardly any protest.

Is that why he persisted in his pursuit of her? Did he see desire in her that she was unaware of? Did she actually want him to do these kinds of things to her?

Had she invited this?

She brought her hand up to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles to keep from screaming as a fresh batch of tears fell down her cheeks.

He had told her once that a good woman kept her mouth shut when a man wanted something. Was that why she had remained quiet? Did she want to be a good woman for him?

"It doesn't make sense," she muttered, her voice shaking. "I _don't_ _want him_." She paused, wiping tears away from her cheeks. Her brow furrowed into a pained, confused expression. "Do I?"

While Molly sat contemplating these unpleasant notions, Mr. Ambrose was in a quite different state of mind.

He'd thought that he'd returned to a peaceful state of mind following his first fight night with that stupid Irish oaf.

He now realized that he'd been mistaken, and sorely so.

He doubted that he had ever felt so at ease in his short, miserable life.

He grinned up at the blue sky, flat on his back in the grass of Mr. Barrett's back yard. One hand rested beneath his head while the other held his cigarette to his lips.

She'd learned. It might have been the hard way, but she had finally learned that he wasn't the man to refuse.

The crying and screaming he could have done without, although they did add a certain _something_ to the proceedings. He would have much preferred her to be screaming in pleasure, but she had made her choice.

"Next time," he promised himself, surprised at his certainty that there would be a next time. He shook his head, although a smile came on his face. "You simply don't know when to stop, Mr. Ambrose," he laughed, the cigarette clenched tightly between his teeth as he inhaled victoriously.

Barrett had said Molly had a choice in her partner and her life. He figured that if he had taught her not to refuse him, he could further educate her on the proper choice to make.

It might even be easier this time around.

"Oh I hope not," he murmured, his smile splitting his lips even wider as he stubbed out his cigarette on the ground beside him. "I truly hope not."


	18. Chapter 18

Molly, by some miracle, managed to push away the memory of what had happened.

She found that focusing on the specific tasks of each and every minute occupied her enough to keep the memories at bay. She did, however, dread the night that would follow once there were no further tasks to complete.

This grand plan was immediately nullified when she caught her first glimpse of Mr. Ambrose.

He was returning to the house, a serene smile on his face as he strolled through the front door. He met her eyes and his smile immediately became predatory. To her sick horror, he blew her a kiss before joining the rest of the men.

Her skin began crawling uncomfortably, and she noticed that her hands had started shaking. The aching that had been present in her backside intensified, as if he was inside of her all over again.

She retreated out of sight and pressed her back against the pantry wall, trying to stem the flow of tears from her eyes.

After several minutes, she forced herself out into the kitchen. She glanced at the clock just as it ticked from 5:03 to 5:04.

She was determined that 5:04 would be a better minute than the last few and set about the tasks that might distract her from her situation.

All she had to do was get through the evening. She had decided in those few horrible moments that she would tell Mr. Barrett, consequences be damned. However, it would need to wait until after their guest arrived. She knew how important this night was to him, and wanted to do everything in her power to help it run smoothly.

Part of her realized that this was an excuse to hold that painful truth to herself for just a little while longer, but a bigger part of her was in complete denial and insisted that she would tell him.

Eventually.

At five of six, with a few more 'bad' minutes thrown in, Mr. Barrett rushed by and gently grabbed her arm, pulling her towards the door with him.

His hair was completely askew, a small curl languishing on his forehead.

Her heart ached for want of him.

She reached up and smoothed it back when he paused for a brief moment, and the resulting look in his eyes startled her.

The right side of his lip curled up and he lightly took her hand. "We'll talk tonight, yes?" He asked, squeezing her fingers briefly.

"Yes," she agreed, and he surprised her by bending down and kissing her cheek.

"You're perfect," he murmured in her ear. "You're going to be the bright spot of my night, as always."

She swallowed hard, but managed to nod and smile at him without any tears escaping her eyes.

Across the room, Mr. Ambrose's smile had been replaced with a snarl.

* * *

The first glance she had of their guest surprised her.

He was tall, nearly as tall as Mr. Barrett, with copper skin and dark hair. When Mr. Barrett stepped forward to shake his hand, she saw warm brown eyes and a beautiful smile.

"Mr. del Rio," Mr. Barrett said formally, "welcome. It's a pleasure to have you here."

Mr. del Rio clapped Mr. Barrett on the shoulder in a friendly way. "The pleasure is mine," he replied in heavily-accented English. Molly studied him while he was introduced to Mrs. Barrett, placing a gentle kiss on her outstretched hand.

He seemed pleasant enough. He was being trailed by a young man whose eyes studied every corner of the room without pause.

Molly was surprised when Mr. Barrett introduced her as well, and further surprised when Mr. del Rio took her hand into his warm ones, bending to kiss her like he had Mrs. Barrett.

"Molly," he said kindly.

She managed to smile and nod in return. "Welcome, Mr. del Rio."

His lips split into an even wider grin, and she found herself smiling genuinely after a moment. He had dimples in his cheeks and straight, white teeth.

He was lovely, she thought.

Her assessment must have been written on her face; both Mr. Barrett and Mr. Ambrose were scowling. She attempted to pull back her interest.

"This gentleman," he said, gesturing to the man behind him, "is my employee, Ricardo."

He gave her a quick nod, a smile on his face. He was bouncing on his heels. An energetic one, this one. It was balanced very well by Mr. del Rio's calm demeanor.

"Ricardo," she said genially, extending her hand. They were of the same standing, at least, and she felt less intimidated by him.

He reached out and shook it quickly, speaking rapidly in a language she didn't understand.

Mr. del Rio quickly interrupted him in that same language and his face flushed.

"I'm sorry miss," he said in rather good English. "I've been speaking Spanish for so long that I tend to forget. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled. "Likewise. I can see why you would prefer Spanish; it's quite lovely to listen to."

Both men smiled, clearly pleased. The moment quickly shattered when Mr. Ambrose stepped forward and introduced himself roughly, obviously attempting to break Mr. del Rio's hand as he shook it.

"Ah yes, you will be my opponent?" Mr. del Rio questioned upon hearing the name, not at all fazed by Ambrose's ridiculous attempt at establishing superiority. "I have heard a bit about you. I look forward to the challenge."

"You shouldn't," Ambrose replied with a smile before stepping back abruptly and leaving through the back door.

He realized that he was being ridiculous, but the way Molly looked at the man had gotten under his skin. Let the others make false apologies for him; he didn't give a shit about decorum at the moment.

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

It would appear that she hadn't learned anything at all.

What a disappointment.

He shook his head. He had truly thought that they'd gotten somewhere today. First the nonsense with Mr. Barrett, which he had attempted to write off as she hadn't been an active participant. But then her starry-eyed view of Mr. del Rio…well, that was unforgiveable.

He'd take care of that after he ruined del Rio's face so badly tomorrow that Molly would never want to look at him like that again.

She'd only look at him with pity after he was done.

"What in the blue _fuck_ are you doing?" Barrett's voice came from behind him. The big man was upset.

"He's smug and arrogant and I don't like it," Ambrose replied crossly, not bothering to turn around as he took another drag off his cigarette.

A big hand gripped his collar and yanked him back, turning him so he was nose-to-nose with Barrett.

"I've had _enough_ ," Barrett growled. "Your insolence is astounding, and I've suffered it for the last time tonight. Get out of my house. Come back tomorrow, if you're ready to behave like an adult. Otherwise, I'll find a replacement for you – and good luck finding steady income elsewhere."

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. This was an interesting development. One that he was surprised to find he had no answer for.

* * *

"Mr. Ambrose won't be joining us this evening," Mr. Barrett said when he returned to the dining room. "My apologies."

"It is quite all right," Mr. del Rio said genially, waving a hand dismissively. "The company we have here is certainly pleasant enough, is it not?" He paused to smile at Molly, who was refilling his water glass. "Thank you, child. Will you not sit with us this evening?"

Molly froze and looked to Mr. Barrett, who nodded.

Abigail, disgusted, threw her napkin down and stalked off. Mr. del Rio glanced at her curiously, but said nothing. Wade found that he liked the man immensely after that.

Molly joined the group at the table, settling in the vacant seat next to Sheamus. Barrett had to suppress a smile as the Irishman turned red and immediately dropped his fork on the floor. Molly sweetly pretended not to notice.

"Ricardo, come sit," Mr. del Rio said, gesturing to the young man standing in the corner. "No servants tonight, merely new friends."

The men chatted for a bit and Molly attempted to keep up, but found she would get lost in Mr. del Rio's accented, flowing voice.

"How did you come to work here, Miss Molly?" He asked innocently, unaware of the horrible story behind her presence in the house.

She remained silent for a moment, trying to find a way to answer the question diplomatically before Mr. Barrett broke in.

"Her father owed me a debt. Molly offered to work for me as a way to pay it off. She's been a blessing."

She was startled to feel his hand slide onto her thigh and lightly squeeze. Attempting to keep her face calm, she pulled her leg away from his grip, her face turning bright red.

The hurt and confusion that filled his face was immediate, and his hand moved back to his own lap.

"Mr. Barrett has been kind enough to welcome me into his home," she continued on with the conversation, "I believe that's been the real blessing."

Mr. del Rio smiled. "It is good to hear that a bad situation worked out well for everyone."

Molly smiled back, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

The conversation moved on throughout the night, and she eventually grew to be more at ease. Mr. del Rio's stories of his travels and his home in Mexico were fascinating, and she listened with eyes that grew wider and a heart that filled with the desire to see such places.

The time passed so quickly that she was amazed to see Doctor Callahan walk in and remembered that she had forgotten to prepare the infirmary room for him to re-stock this evening.

"Oh! Excuse me," she murmured, quickly joining him.

Mr. del Rio stared after her curiously and looked to Mr. Barrett for an explanation.

"Molly's been assisting our physician after our fights," he explained. "I believe she's able to stitch up cuts now, actually, although I'm not quite willing to let her practice on me just yet."

"She does well," Sheamus said dismissively, waving his hand. "Drew's stitches were a little crooked the first time, but my eyebrow came out just fine."

"That is impressive," Mr. del Rio said, nodding. "She is a smart girl."

"Very," Mr. Barrett agreed. "She's taken to everything quite easily."

"I could use someone like that." He glanced at Ricardo. "No offense intended, _amigo_ , but you faint at the sight of blood." He glanced back at Mr. Barrett and smiled charmingly. "I do not suppose you would be willing to part with her?"

He was taken aback. "No," he answered immediately. "Not unless she made the decision on her own," he added smoothly. "I don't believe she will, but you are of course free to ask."

Mr. del Rio smiled and shrugged. "That is a shame. I have to at least try, you understand. It is a marvelous idea. Perhaps if she refuses I shall find my own Molly back home."

Wade nodded, in spite of his roiling stomach.

He tried to tell himself he had nothing to worry about.


	19. Chapter 19

Exhausted, Wade collapsed onto his sofa with a drink in his hand. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to revel in the fact that, in spite of the potential for disaster, the night had gone well.

Ambrose had made trouble, of course, but he'd partially expected that and felt that he'd dealt with it appropriately. Molly had been charming; perhaps a bit _too_ charming, in fact.

He grinned, although there was little amusement in his expression. He would have a tough time keeping her here should she decide to leave. Her options seemed endless.

As if summoned by his thoughts, she knocked gently at his doorway. "You wanted to see me?"

His smile became more natural. "Always," he replied, standing up and striding towards her. He reached to pull her into his arms and was astounded when she stepped back.

After a moment, he lowered his own arms and cautiously backed away from her. "Have I done something to offend you?"

She closed her eyes, her shoulders sinking into obvious despair. "No," she replied quietly. "You haven't offended me."

He hesitated, confused. "Then may I ask why…?"

Tears started streaming down her cheeks. "Molly," he said gently, stepping towards her again. She quickly retreated, opening her eyes.

"You're married," she said around the lump in her throat. "This isn't right."

He felt his own shoulders slump in defeat, the truth sinking onto him heavily. "I'm sorry to have put you in this position," he replied after a moment. "I…I shouldn't have ever taken advantage of your good nature the way I did."

They both hung their heads, uncomfortable and hurt, with the crushing weight of loneliness settling in on each of them once more.

"Mr. del Rio has expressed an interest in hiring you," he said before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth. "If you'd like to leave my employ, he would have a position waiting for you at his home in Mexico."

She looked uncertain for a moment. "If you'd like to…leave me, I'd understand," he continued, trying to keep the warble of sadness out of his voice.

"No," she replied. "I don't think that will be necessary."

"None-the-less," he replied, cursing his nobility. "If you need to leave, I understand it completely. It may be easier in the long run."

"Do you want me to leave?"

The words struck him hard in the chest. "Dear God no," he whispered. "No."

Her eyes finally met his, and the profound misery in them was his undoing. He came to her in two long strides, pulling her into his arms and bending to crush his lips against hers. Propriety be damned.

He moved away after several moments and buried his face in her hair. "Why couldn't it have been you?" He murmured gently. "Why was it her and not you?"

* * *

Ambrose listened outside of Molly's window as she sobbed heartily, reaching a near-fevered pitch with her wailing before she buried her face into the pillow to stifle the sound.

She'd been at it for some time now, a half-hour if he guessed correctly.

How curious.

He wondered what had happened during his absence.

After pacing back and forth for several minutes, her sobbing still did not subside.

It was giving him a terrible headache.

He walked towards the front of the house, watching through Mr. Barrett's window while he drank heavily. After his third drink in rapid succession, he buried his head in his hands.

Something had, indeed, happened tonight. Something he had an inkling that he would not be at all pleased by.

If it had rattled Barrett that badly, it was certainly nothing good.

He made his way back to Molly's room, listening to her pathetic mewling cries as they became more sporadic.

Finally, she stopped altogether. He reconsidered his course of action for several moments and ultimately elected to pursue the punishment of Ms. Molly Parker when he knew the entirety of this new situation.

Uneasily, he slunk off into the night and left Molly in the fitful sleep of the broken-hearted.

* * *

The next morning was a misery for both Molly and Mr. Barrett.

Molly was quiet, subdued, with eyes that were puffy and still tear-filled.

Mr. Barrett was, quite simply, a miserable bastard with a hangover.

Sometime around eleven that morning, Mr. del Rio arrived. He could tell that something was off about the inhabitants of the house, but he attempted to stay above the fray and be kind to everyone.

Barrett liked that about him. He found himself thinking that if Molly were to leave, it wouldn't be a bad thing for her to go with del Rio.

His heart sank, and he cursed himself yet again for his parting words – a plea to at least consider Mr. del Rio's offer.

Truly, it was for her sake that he had asked. She didn't deserve to be anguished, stuck so close to him but unable to move forward with any kind of relationship. She didn't deserve to be in the same home with a man who couldn't trust himself around her; a man who couldn't promise not to kiss her ever again, or touch her when the desire arose.

He hated himself for ruining something so wonderful, and accepted that it was his burden to bear if she should decide to leave.

His heart still dove into his stomach when Mr. del Rio kindly took Molly's arm and asked for a private word with her outside.

She refused to look at him as she left, and Barrett knew with horrible clarity that she would be leaving.

"Fuck," he muttered, standing up and pouring himself another drink. He thought that this might be the norm for the next several days.

Molly was well aware of what Mr. del Rio wanted to discuss with her, and it was a conversation she dreaded.

She thought that leaving would be the wise choice, but she simply did not want to do it. She had hoped that Mr. del Rio would choose to leave things as they were and she wouldn't be forced to make a decision.

She listened politely to his pitch, her mind frantically attempting to discern the correct answer. When he fell silent, she still was unsure.

"Tell me more about Mexico," she said. A smile lit his face, and he began to speak.

It was then that Mr. Ambrose arrived.

He watched the two of them for a brief moment, listening with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Mexico," he interrupted with a snort. "You're painting an awfully rosy picture, aren't you Mr. del Rio?"

He strode forward. Molly's face ran a gamut of emotions, from surprise to fear to deep sadness. Mr. del Rio simply looked annoyed.

"I am not sure which parts of Mexico you have visited, _amigo_ , but what I say is the truth for where I live."

He pursed his lips in a stunning display of wild skepticism. "Mexico is a shit hole," he said clearly, looking at Molly while he said it. "No one in their right mind would choose to live there."

She could see Mr. del Rio's fists clench angrily, but the man maintained his temper. She found that she was pleased by that in a detached way – he wouldn't be terrible to work for.

"I am not sure," he said slowly, "what business this is of yours, Mr. Ambrose."

Dean grinned, nodding towards Molly. " _She_ is my business, Mr. del Rio," he replied snidely.

Alberto glanced between the two of them, acutely aware of something buried just beneath the surface. "I will forgive your intrusion," he decided after a moment. "And I will allow you the two of you privacy to discuss your…issues." He turned to Molly with a warm smile, surprised at the worry in her eyes. He patted her hand gently. "I will be right inside the door," he said for her benefit. "Should you make your decision, or should you need anything – please call for me."

She nodded, managing a small smile. "Thank you."

Ambrose watched him with wary eyes, waiting until he was well out of earshot before speaking.

"So," he said casually, taking slow steps towards her. "Mexico."

She glanced away. "It has been offered as a possibility," she admitted.

He laughed. "It's not an offer you'll take. Do you understand me?"

The expression on her face turned to pure hatred. "You don't tell me what to do," she said quietly. "You can't force me to live my life in a certain manner."

"Oh yes I can," he replied, casually taking the seat beside her. He reached out and gently touched her face, turning her chin so that their eyes met. He smiled. "Do you think running off to Mexico will stop me? I would burn the whole world down to find you, my Molly May."

He could see the fear take over her face. "Why are you doing this?" She asked.

"Because I want to," he explained simply, "and because I can."

She shook her head. "Leave me alone."

"No." He leaned over to grab her wrists, and she surprised him by pulling away.

"Leave me alone," she repeated, a low warning growl finding its way into her voice. "You got what you wanted from me, now leave me in peace. Please."

"You are in a mood this morning, sweetheart," he said instead, reaching over and smoothing her hair back behind her ear. "You'd better stop before you put me in a mood. That would be very, very bad for you." She closed her eyes, hating him more than she'd imagined it was possible to hate another human being. Sensing her weakness, he leaned forward. "And what made you think for a minute that I got what I wanted from you?"

"What else could you possibly want?" She asked hopelessly.

His lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. "I want you to admit that you want me like I want you."

"I don't."

"Are you sure?" She glanced over at him warily, and he could see that he had her. He tried to take a gentle tone. "Every time I touched you, you were wet for me. You never protested with any real conviction. You haven't told anyone that I was forcing myself on you or that you didn't want me around. Are you truly sure that you don't want me? I find your mouth and your body saying two entirely different things in this case, my love."

She wrenched away from him, and he caught a glimpse of her tear-filled eyes as she ran back into the house.

He smiled grimly. "One down…."

* * *

"Let me explain something to you, _amigo_ ," Ambrose said snidely. "You can't just waltz in here and try to take from me. You're new around here, so you might not know this – but _nobody_ takes from me."

Mr. del Rio raised an eyebrow. "It is my understanding that young woman is not yours. She certainly does not seem to enjoy your company."

Ambrose could feel his lips contorting into a sneer. "Molly is mine. She might not realize it just yet, but she belongs to me. As a result, you need to back off."

The other man smiled. "No, I do not think I will. She is free to decide her own course."

"No, she isn't," Ambrose explained with false patience. " _I_ decide. And I'm telling you she isn't going anywhere."

"We will see, will we not?" del Rio clapped him on the shoulder with false friendliness, and Ambrose grabbed his hand and twisted it painfully by the wrist.

"Don't fucking touch me," he spat.

To his credit, del Rio kept his cool. He reached out with his other hand and struck Ambrose with a surprisingly ferocious punch to the jaw.

"You had best mind your manners," he said in a clipped tone as Ambrose dropped his wrist.

"After you," he replied angrily. He couldn't believe the Mexican had the balls.

Del Rio smiled, although his eyes were dark with anger. "If she matters so much to you, I am sure that you will find a way to convince her."

"She's convinced. I'll convince you now." Ambrose did his best to not jump the man at that exact moment, and rushed into his words as a result. "When I win tonight, tomorrow you leave town without Molly and with your pocket two thousand pounds lighter."

"And when I win tonight," del Rio countered, "I leave with Molly and get to see you whipped publicly for your insolence."

"Then it's a wager," he said, sticking out his hand angrily for del Rio to shake. He felt his fingers being crushed, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.

After the deal was sealed, he had one more piece of business.

"Molly should come to the fight tonight," he was saying in Mr. Barrett's office several minutes later. "I think it's time for her to see what we actually do. We had Doc Callahan do the same thing when he started working with us."

"Molly doesn't need to see that," Barrett replied, already on his second glass of scotch this morning.

"You can't shelter her forever."

Barrett snorted derisively, some dark thought crossing his mind. Ambrose knew better than to ask – truthfully, he couldn't care less.

"No," Wade admitted sadly. "No, I can't." He sighed heavily. "Fine. We'll bring her along."


	20. Chapter 20

The last thing Molly wanted was to spend an evening in the company of three men who had different, conflicting designs on her – one of whom was just as broken-hearted and lost as she was.

It pained her to see Mr. Barrett in such a state. She could tell that he was trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, but the unfamiliar somberness to his expression gave him away.

She herself was a roiling concoction of pain and confusion. She wanted to comfort Mr. Barrett badly, but knew that it would only add more complexity to an already puzzling state of affairs.

In her pain, she had foolishly decided to not discuss Mr. Ambrose with him. She lied to herself that it was to avoid causing any additional grief in his life, but knew that it was because she was ashamed of what had happened to her.

The thought of having to speak it out loud, of having to explain – it made her feel ill. And so she chose to avoid that situation entirely.

She surreptitiously glanced at Mr. Ambrose. For once, he wasn't focused on her – she could see him moving around, hopping back and forth on his feet and swinging his arms.

If she hadn't been disturbed enough before their conversation this morning, she certainly was afterwards. It was terrifying that he was persisting, and for no other reason than his own sick amusement.

She had sorely misjudged him as merely dangerous. He was a psychopath, and she was certain that this made him lethal.

"All right, Molly?" A warm hand clapped on her back. She gave a tight smile to the Irishman standing beside her.

"It's a bit to take in," she said by way of excuse.

"You'll get used to it," he reassured her, taking his leave to perform his own pre-fight ritual.

"I hope not," she murmured, glancing around nervously once more before settling in beside – but a safe distance from – Mr. Barrett.

They both refused to look at each other, staring resolutely ahead and saying nothing. It was such a strange state of being for both of them – to physically be so close, yet otherwise entirely separated from one another.

She hated it, and it preoccupied her until it was time for the fighting to start.

Mr. Barrett moved her to an out-of-the way area, refusing to let the crowd see that a woman – a young, pretty woman – was in their midst.

She watched some of the fights with interest, managing a small smile when Sheamus knocked Drew on his rear for the victory and then helped him up, laughing.

He grinned as he walked by her, his bright red hair messier than usual, his pale chest and back gleaming with sweat. She smiled back.

The last fight of the night was the one she'd been dreading – Mr. Ambrose and Mr. del Rio. At the last moment, both men had agreed that it would be a match with no rules; the last man standing would be the winner.

This did nothing to quell her nerves.

She attempted to watch stoically, amazed at the ferocity with which they attacked one another. For a short while, it appeared as though Mr. del Rio would emerge triumphant – he had bloodied Mr. Ambrose's nose and forehead with several brutal blows, and pulled him into position where he looked as if he was tearing his arm out of its socket.

Molly did not flinch; she did not wince. She watched this part calmly, a dark joy building in her chest.

The trouble began when Mr. del Rio assumed – incorrectly – that Mr. Ambrose was defeated and let go. He rose to his feet, bloody, with an expression of pure rage on his face.

The beating that followed was one of the most terrifying things she had ever witnessed.

Every part of his body became a weapon. She even saw him rake his fingernails down the other man's back, wincing as red lines bloomed on his skin from the attack. Mr. del Rio staggered away from him, obviously in pain.

Mr. Ambrose smiled, although it looked more like a grimace, and pulled him back.

His violence was intricate and controlled chaos; his movements were fluid and graceful in their own way, but difficult to predict.

She had never seen anything quite like it.

Apparently, neither had Mr. del Rio. In a matter of ten minutes, he was on his stomach and Mr. Ambrose was left standing the victor.

* * *

"They took you to the fights?" Doctor Callahan asked, taking in her pale face. She managed a weak smile and nod. "It takes some time to stop feeling queasy, but you will." He squeezed her shoulder in a friendly way.

Most of the men had escaped relatively unscathed. Molly put a cold compress on the back of Drew's head where a lump had formed after his fall. Mr. del Rio had refused medical attention from her or Doctor Callahan, walking out of the arena after a quick conference with Mr. Ambrose.

He had looked at her with sadness and regret, and Molly understood why Mr. Ambrose had been so vicious.

The choice had been made for her – she wouldn't be going to Mexico. It was a mixture of relief and profound fear of what her future now held.

She avoided Mr. Ambrose entirely, although he watched her with obvious interest. She let the doctor work on his wounds, and sensing that she felt uncomfortable Doc didn't ask her for any assistance.

As they were cleaning up the room, Mr. Ambrose lingered. She realized it was for her and knew that it would be an unavoidable confrontation. With as brave a voice as she could muster, she suggested that Doc make his way home; she would take care of the rest.

With a suspicious backward glance at the two of them, he took her advice.

Ambrose shut the door behind him and turned the small privacy lock, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"What?" She asked simply, throwing down the rag she'd been using to wipe his blood off the floor.

He took a few small steps towards her. "Do you know what winning does to a man?"

The question surprised her. She shook her head.

"Winning something small – a card game, a wager – fills a man with a sense of pride. It makes him feel, in a way, more alive." He had completed his approach and offered her his hand. She took it uneasily and stood under his scrutiny for several moments before he spoke again.

"Winning a physical competition is a little different," he continued. "That sense of pride is multiplied, but it also makes one very aware of his masculine attributes and…appetites."

Her heart sank as he reached out and lightly brushed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Quite simply," he said slowly, "it makes a man want to fuck the next acceptable thing that walks by."

She didn't fight him as he shoved her towards the wall and began kissing her intensely. She had been resigned to this fate since their conversation this morning. Perhaps if she simply gave in once, he would be satisfied.

"Kiss me back," he murmured. "Kiss me back like you did yesterday. Let me teach you how to do it."

She complied numbly, the motions feeling a bit less fumbling and awkward the more she did them.

He picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. A bolt of panic shot through her, but she quickly shoved it down. She could feel him pressed against her through their clothes and wondered what it would feel like when he finally did it. She wondered if it would hurt as much as it had before.

He paused in kissing her and moved his head down to kiss her neck, a new sensation that she found she enjoyed. The stubble on his face scraped against her sensitive skin and she found herself gripping his shoulders, her hips pressing towards his without her conscious thought.

"Do you want me?" He asked, bringing his mouth to her ear to ask before putting his mouth on the lobe and sucking lightly.

She didn't answer. Mildly annoyed, he slid his hand to her panties and moved them aside to run his fingers against her.

He smiled when he felt the effect he was having on her. Changing his plan slightly, he began to stroke her and was rewarded with a small whimper that was a mixture of pleasure and reluctance.

"Look at me," he commanded, although he tempered it with a gentle tone.

She unwillingly obeyed, her deep brown eyes meeting his. He increased the pressure of his fingers, grinning as her eyes fluttered and her hips pressed against his hand more insistently.

"I'm going to make you come," he said. "Would you like that?"

Her chest was moving rapidly, her hips rocking against him wildly. When she didn't answer again, he stopped. "Tell me. Would you like that?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, returning his attention to giving her an orgasm. He held her tightly when her body began to tremble, kissing her face, her neck, her lips. She started to cry out and he pressed his lips tightly against hers once more, stifling the noise.

He held her for several moments after, considering his course of action.

She looked at him warily. "Are you going to…are we…." He raised an eyebrow. "Should we go to my bedroom?"

His heart leapt. "No," he surprised himself by saying. "No, I don't think we should." He bent and kissed her softly on her lips and then her forehead. "Not tonight."

* * *

He sent her off to bed and took his leave, his pockets heavy enough to fund his activities for the night, with many thanks to Mr. del Rio.

His first stop was the brothel, where he had one last explosive encounter with his favorite whore. He gave her a generous bonus and explained that he wouldn't be seeing her for a while, if ever again.

He pretended not to notice the relief on her face.

His mind substantially clearer, he took a long walk in a neighborhood close to the Barrett household.

He found what he was looking for and, in spite of the late hour, was able to broker a deal with the homeowner. He would take possession of the house within the week.

He mentally ticked things off the list that had been given to him not long ago –

He lived in a boarding house. Well, not any longer.

He drank to excess. Not for the last several days. He hadn't missed it, he was surprised to find.

He caroused. Not after tonight.

He smiled.

"Hard to protest the match now, Mr. Barrett," he murmured to himself. "Hard to protest indeed."


	21. Chapter 21

Wade watched in silence from the door while Molly slept.

She must have been exhausted; she hadn't moved at all in the last several minutes.

He'd been surprised when del Rio had left without so much as another word about taking her with him. She must have refused his offer.

He wasn't sure if he should be pleased or upset by the news.

He closed his eyes. Why continue lying to himself? A cold wave of relief had washed over him, knowing that she would be staying. It might not be the wisest choice or the best situation for either of them, but he knew that having her thousands of miles – truly, an entire world – away from him would eventually mean his death.

He shook his head angrily, loathing his life for the first time. There had never been a woman he'd cared for so deeply. It was part of the reason he hadn't minded marrying Abigail when the time came to do so. He doubted that he ever would care much about anyone, and their chemistry at the time had been explosive.

Explosive until they married and he bought her a house. She had then refused to touch him, no matter how much he begged.

Now he doubted he'd even be able to get aroused at the sight of her. A man can only tolerate cruelty from a woman for so long before the effects were irreversible.

He wondered how long it would take Molly to feel that way about him. What he was doing certainly was cruel – keeping her so close, yet refusing to act on emotions he knew both of them shared. He was breaking her heart – and his own – every moment of every day.

He couldn't think of a harsher form of cruelty.

Closing his eyes, suddenly weary, he gently closed her door. He felt ill and desperately unhappy as he retreated from her.

The realization was swift and harsh, and it nearly doubled him over.

There would be no happy ending here.

Not for them.

* * *

Ambrose watched Molly the following morning quite closely, although he attempted to be discrete about it.

She didn't seem quite as afraid of him. She was wary, of course, and still avoided him as much as she could. But she seemed a bit more at ease.

Barrett had told him it would be Molly's choice. He didn't think intimidating her into marriage would work as well as bullying her into bed had. Even that had come with mixed success, at best. He needed to be cautious, proceed slowly, and allow her to think that he was gradually coming around to being a gentle, loving man.

He wasn't.

She both fascinated and irritated him. He knew that she wasn't mentally or emotionally attracted to him. Perhaps not even physically attracted, beyond what he could do to her with his various body parts. And yet she didn't raise any alarm when he pursued her. She didn't cry for help. She merely fought him tooth and nail for survival – and the surprising, intriguing part was that she'd won at least once.

His irritation was brought on by this very same characteristic of hers – he wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it. And he always got it.

Except for her.

Sure, in their little skirmishes he'd been victorious a few times. But he wasn't used to skirmishing, and he wasn't used to losing. If things had been going his way, he would have been done with her by now.

The fact that he wasn't made him feel strange. He was angry, of course, and wanted to punish her for the rest of her life. But there was a grudging sense of admiration for her, as well. Not many people would continue standing against him after what he'd done to her.

She made him feel conflicted, and he didn't like that. Not one bit.

He realized that the room had fallen silent. Glancing up from the table, he saw several pairs of eyes turned towards him. Most looked concerned, but Barrett looked weary and Molly looked frightened.

He'd been brooding, he realized, releasing the lower lip that was trapped between his teeth.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "What?"

"I was asking how you were feeling after your fight with Mr. del Rio," Barrett repeated patiently.

"Fine." He glanced up at Molly, forcing his eyes to soften slightly. "Great," he amended, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

Conflicted or not, the show must go on.

* * *

Molly was relieved when her day was over.

She retreated to her room and sat on her bed, hands folded between her knees, for a long time. An outside observer might think she was a statue she sat so still.

Her brain was whirring with great speed, attempting to process the last approximately forty-eight hours of her life.

First, the unsurprising revelation that she cared for Mr. Barrett deeply, and in a manner beyond platonic. This was followed by the very surprising revelation that he felt the same way, accompanied by a frustratingly aborted attempt at a first kiss.

Second, Mr. Ambrose had intruded on her distressing thoughts that she and Mr. Barrett could never be that close again. She thought he had simply wanted an apology, which she had given freely. And then he had….

Afterwards, she had attempted to soldier on as best she could. She thought she had a small measure of success. She had turned Mr. Barrett away, as difficult as that was, and was offered a chance to leave this increasingly bizarre and hostile situation she found herself in.

Before she could truly consider the offer, Mr. Ambrose had intervened and had given her further reason to fear him and what he might be capable of doing to her. He had then, in some way, persuaded Mr. del Rio to rescind his offer.

She had watched him beat the man bloody and had decided, in that moment his arm was raised in victory, to give in before she was harmed. At the end of the day, constantly battling over something she thought she may want anyway seemed foolish.

She was ready last night. She had mentally prepared herself; pushing away the revulsion and fear she felt when he touched her. Closing her eyes and pretending for a few moments that it was someone she actually cared for, someone who had never and would never hurt her.

It almost made it bearable.

Then, most surprising of all – he had stopped. She had even offered him the opportunity to take what he wanted without a fight, and he had refused her.

She couldn't pretend to understand what that meant, or what his thoughts on the matter were.

She'd like to say that it troubled her, but the truth was that she slept better last night than she had in weeks. She hadn't been afraid that he might suddenly arrive. Even if he did, she at least knew that there would be no more struggling.

This morning, her head was a bit clearer, and she was slightly more concerned about the practical implications of this series of events.

She didn't believe that Mr. Ambrose was the type of man to basically give up once his desire was within reach. She had heard men discuss the thrill of the hunt, and it seemed that he would enjoy such a thing. But she very much doubted that he wouldn't take his prize at the end. It simply did not fit what she knew of him.

This left the unsettling probability that he had something else in mind.

She shook her head, angry and afraid. It wasn't enough that he wanted to harm her physically, now it seemed that his intent was to attack her mental and emotional well-being.

Unhappily, she knew that the time had long passed to tell Mr. Barrett about all of these happenings.

Resigning herself to that fate, she stood and moved towards the door, feeling a heaviness on her heart. She grasped the knob and pulled the door open, jumping back when Mr. Ambrose stood in the frame with his fist poised to knock.


	22. Chapter 22

"You startled me," she said by way of greeting.

He pulled his lips into a smile. "My apologies." He stepped into her room, forcing her to retreat. "You are done for the day, yes?" She nodded hesitantly. "Come walk with me." He offered her his arm.

For a moment it seemed that she would not accept, and he felt irritation bubble in his chest. Then, cautiously, she reached out and gripped his elbow with her hand.

He led her out of the house and down the street, not attempting any conversation yet. She still seemed wary, but she had accepted. He hadn't expected her to do so with such ease. It was, he hoped, a good sign.

As they approached his new house, he began to speak.

"Do you like it here, Molly?" He glanced down at her, forcing a smile onto his face. "The neighborhood, I mean."

"It's a very nice place," she replied carefully.

"Would you stay here after you left Mr. Barrett's employ?"

He had caught her off-guard. "I hadn't considered it," she finally replied.

"I like it here very much," he said, slowing his pace. "In fact," he stopped and turned her towards the house on their right, "this is my new home."

He watched her carefully as she took in the sight of the house. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it was neatly kept and rather attractive. He felt something in his chest loosen as a small smile fell on her lips as she examined the small details of the home.

"It's lovely," she finally said, attempting to pull back her enthusiasm. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. Would you like to see the inside?"

He didn't wait for her answer before beginning to walk towards the gate. She followed wordlessly.

He had heard today that the previous owners had been able to vacate earlier than previously thought. He had picked up the keys this afternoon and thought it might be a good way to speed up the process with Miss Molly.

He opened the front door and gestured her inside. Molly found she was surprised that a man like Mr. Ambrose wanted a house, much less one that was obviously suited for a family over a bachelor. She found herself running her fingers over the gleaming woodwork that trimmed the room, closing her eyes to enjoy the light that filtered in through large windows.

"What do you think?" He asked, closer than she anticipated.

"I think it's beautiful," she admitted.

"Would you like to live here?"

She paused for a moment before turning to face him with obvious confusion. "What do you mean? Would I like to come work for you?"

He smiled. "Not quite."

She waited for him to elaborate. He did not. Instead, he grasped her by the hand and showed her the rest of the house, finally leading her upstairs to where he would be sleeping.

The bed had already arrived. It was the only piece of furniture in the house, the only piece he truly needed today.

He allowed her to step in front of him, watching as she examined the headboard and mattress. When she turned, she was surprised to see him watching her with an undeniable softness in his expression.

"What is it?" She asked, self-conscious.

He took several steps towards her and gently placed his hands on her waist. "You seem very much at home here." He paused. "Would you like it to be your home?" He asked again.

"I'm not sure what you're asking," she finally replied after a long silence.

He bent down and kissed her then, forcing himself to keep his lips from being harsh and rough against hers. He pulled back but did not immediately retreat; he moved his mouth instead to her neck, grinning as he felt her pulse pick up beneath his lips.

He swept his hands around her back and began to unbutton her dress. She didn't protest. In a few moments, she was in her underwear in front of him. He allowed his lips to wander further, kissing her collarbone and her breasts, kneeling in front of her to kiss a trail down her abdomen to the very top of her panties.

He looked up at her as he lightly, chastely kissed her over her panties, smiling as her eyes widened.

Standing again, he pulled his own shirt off before moving her by the shoulders to sit on the bed. Bending down, he pulled her shoes off, leaving her stockings on. He kicked his own shoes off and then with a light but firm hand, pushed her onto her back by her shoulders.

He climbed onto the bed and hovered over her for a moment before bending to kiss her again, pleased when she began to kiss him back. She was getting better at it, he thought, moving to nuzzle her neck with his nose.

She seemed to enjoy the sensation, her hands coming up to run over his arms and back while he returned to kissing her.

"I have a better use for those hands," he murmured in her ear. He brought his hand down and gently toyed with the waist of her panties. "Take those off."

* * *

Molly had wondered for some time how it would feel to have Mr. Ambrose use his mouth on her again.

She was discovering that now.

After she had followed his instructions to undress, he had gently moved her up the bed, placing a pillow under her head. Sliding down her body, he spread her thighs wide and began with a soft closed-mouth kiss that sent an odd tingling sensation throughout her pelvis.

Once he had begun kissing her with his tongue, the sensation became stronger. It was similar to the one she felt when he used his fingers, but more intense.

She cried out when he suddenly began sucking on her; her fingers gripped tightly into the mattress and her body tensed. Surprisingly, he started laughing.

"So nice to actually hear you enjoying yourself," he said before returning to what he had been doing.

His hands ran over her body, up her stocking-clad legs and to her breasts, teasing and toying with her nipples. She pressed against his mouth, unable to stop soft moans from escaping her lips.

He took her hands in his and squeezed them lightly, lacing their fingers together. Molly barely noticed, focused entirely on the sensations his mouth was creating and the soft noises he was making – they sounded hungry, full of wanting. It seemed to make her feel every movement he made even more intensely.

Finally, she gripped his hands with surprising strength and sat nearly bolt-upright in the bed, crying out with no thought – simply incoherent joy.

After several moments of intense pleasure, she fell back onto her back with small beads of sweat forming around her hairline.

He waited, occasionally pushing his tongue out to give her a single lick – the cries and tremors that accompanied those motions both amused and aroused him.

At last, she seemed to have calmed entirely. He moved up the bed to lay on his side next to her, bending his elbow and propping his head up on his hand. "Did you enjoy that?" He asked idly, trailing his fingers down between her breasts.

"Yes," she admitted.

He bent and kissed the very tip of her nose, taking her hand and putting it on his crotch boldly.

She seemed unsure at first, simply running her hand over him through his pants. It was still enough to make his erection throb hopefully, and after a moment he unbuttoned his pants and kicked them and his shorts away.

Very, very gently he wrapped her hand around the base of his penis and began to move it up and down. She didn't protest, and after several slow strokes he removed his guiding hand. She kept going.

He exhaled in relief and positioned himself on his back, turning her body so that she was on her side pressed against him. He kissed her forehead several times, looking down to watch her small, soft hand move against him.

"Grip a little harder," he murmured with his lips pressed into her hair. He was rewarded with her compliance almost immediately. "Perfect. God, perfect." He guided her into adding small twists of her hand and short pauses, and was shortly on the verge of his own orgasm.

He removed her hand, kissing it gently. "Straddle my legs, love," he said, attempting to keep himself calm enough not to rush. She moved slowly, her eyes concerned, but she did it.

The sight of her in only stockings, her breasts hanging inches from him as she tried to move into position, was nearly enough. She spread her thighs over his and he took a hold of her hips, pulling her closer to him.

He ran the very tip of his erection through her still-wet and swollen lips, closing his eyes as the sensation reverberated through his body. Molly moaned quietly as the head of him hit her sensitive clitoris, her body moving unexpectedly in response.

He groaned softly and positioned himself so that his erection lie on his stomach and her wet lips surrounded it. "Move back and forth," he said gently, amazed that she still complied.

His vision became increasingly hazy as she moved with increased speed and fervor, rocking on him and occasionally gasping as their bodies aligned correctly to give her more pleasure. He reached up to grab her breast with one hand, the other moving to her hips to guide her movements.

If a woman had told him before now that she would make him come merely by rubbing herself against him, he would have laughed in her face before pushing her to her knees.

Which was why he was immensely surprised to feel himself tightening, tensing for an orgasm that came with rapidity and intensity.

She paused for a moment, unsure, and he begged her to keep moving, pulling her hips roughly. She watched, fascinated, as several spurts of white liquid shot out onto his stomach. His face was contorted into what looked like an expression of pain, but the sounds coming from his lips weren't pained at all.

She could feel him throbbing against her, an odd but still pleasant sensation. She slowed her movements and he didn't protest, and so she eventually came to a stop.

Wordlessly, he patted the bed beside him, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Moving slightly awkwardly, she dismounted and lay down beside him, keeping a safe distance from his body.

Without opening his eyes, he reached out and yanked her to him before pressing an intense kiss on her lips.

"You," he panted, "did so well, my sweet Molly." His fingers worked his way in between her thighs. "You deserve a reward."

* * *

Ambrose was grinning as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. All he truly needed was a cigarette, and he thought his life would be perfect.

Molly was curled beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. She had dropped off into sleep after her third orgasm, which was much more powerful than the previous ones. The cords on her neck had stood out as her body trembled, her pleasure so intense that no sound escaped her lips – only strangled squeaks.

It had been a glorious sight.

He leaned over and absently kissed her forehead, stroking his thumb over her bare shoulder. He felt satisfied with the day's events and thought that everything had gone much better than he could have anticipated. He had even managed to have a physical release of his own without frightening or upsetting her.

He hadn't expected her to be so willing, or to grow more enthusiastic with time. It had been a very welcome surprise.

She murmured softly in her sleep and moved closer to him. His body stilled immediately and remained that way until her breathing had returned to an even rhythm. He watched her for several minutes, studying the curve of her lips and the soft swoop of her nose.

She was beautiful. He could do much worse. In fact, he had done much worse. The thought caused an unexpected laugh to bubble in his chest and he did his best to hold it back.

"You're going to spend the rest of your wretched days with me," he murmured into her hair. "And there's nothing you'll be able to do to stop that from happening." He kissed her again, amused that she was still sleeping peacefully, with no inkling of the fate that was falling on her head even as she lie beside him.

Moving carefully, he stood and left her sleeping while he sought out the shower downstairs. He found himself whistling a cheerful tune as he soaped his stomach and was surprised by just how good he felt.

When he returned upstairs in search of his clothing, Molly was still asleep. He watched her as he dressed, a small smile finding its way onto his lips. He'd see this every day in short order.

The sun was setting outside, sending a warm orange glow in through the windows. He knew that this peaceful afternoon was drawing to a close, and found he was reluctant to wake her and end it entirely.

The thought rose unbidden that this was not like him, and that it didn't seem as if he was merely playing the part of a good man. He quickly pushed it away. He knew what he was doing.


	23. Chapter 23

Wade Barrett was waiting by the door when Molly and Ambrose strolled in, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow.

He tried to keep himself from shouting, and failed miserably.

"Where have you been?"

Molly looked taken aback. "Mr. Ambrose was showing me his new house," she explained.

"All bloody afternoon?" He shot back, glaring at Ambrose.

"We had a lovely walk around my new neighborhood," he replied blandly.

He glanced between the two of them, trying to guess what was actually going on. "Did you want to go? Or were you coerced into going?" He finally asked Molly.

"I wanted to go," she replied before Mr. Ambrose could start yelling, which seemed inevitable given how dark his eyes had become. "Mr. Ambrose asked, and I agreed."

Wade glanced back and forth between them, attempting to find a reason to maintain his anger. "Don't you bloody well run off like that again," he growled at Molly.

She blinked in surprise. "I was told I'd have a measure of freedom under this roof when I wasn't working."

He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. "Not when it comes to _him_."

Mr. Ambrose's jaw clenched tightly. "I see." He paused, considering how he wanted to handle this situation. "Molly, darling, thank you for a glorious afternoon." He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek, amused by the anger that flashed in Barrett's eyes. "Mr. Barrett and I obviously have a few matters to discuss, so please excuse us."

Molly had barely cleared the room before Barrett took two long steps towards him and grabbed his collar, slamming him into the wall.

"What are you doing?" He growled.

"Being attacked for walking with a young lady, apparently," Ambrose replied snidely.

"Let's not play games, Dean. What are you up to?"

Ambrose reached out and delicately pulled Barrett's hand away from his collar, making a show of straightening it again. "I told you that I wanted to marry that girl. You said I couldn't unless certain conditions were met and she decided to marry me. I've met all of your conditions, and now I'm courting her and hoping her decision goes in my favor."

Barrett's eyes widened and he stepped back as if slapped. "She'll never marry you."

The right side of Ambrose's mouth turned up. "Don't be so sure. She very much enjoyed her time with me this afternoon. And she found my home – our future home – quite suitable."

Before he really thought through the implications of such an action, Barrett brought his fist up and punched Ambrose square in his filthy lying mouth.

Ambrose stumbled back, partially out of shock and partially due to the strength of the blow. He regained his legs and brought his hand up to his mouth, which he was unsurprised to note was bleeding. He'd forgotten how hard Barrett could hit.

He looked up at him through the curtain of hair that had fallen over his eyes. He needed to be smart about this.

"I'll give you one," he said, attempting desperately to keep his temper in check. "Just…that…one."

Barrett's fists were still clenched by his sides. "So if I want to fight you I need to hit you again?" He growled, his hands flexing. "Fine by me."

There was little anyone could do to stop it after that.

* * *

Barrett supposed he'd won, although he certainly didn't feel like it.

After he had bodily thrown Ambrose's limp form out the front door, he had immediately retreated to his study and poured himself a drink.

He pressed the cold glass against his head, trying to tune out his wife's shrill cries from the other room.

He knew that it was absolute chaos; a sea of broken furniture and shattered glass from where Ambrose had put his head into the mirror hanging on the wall.

He didn't care.

The door rattled in the frame as someone tried to open it. Hearing his name screeched by his wife, he surmised that it was her. He wanted no part of her at the moment, so he chose not to answer. He downed the contents of his glass in one gulp and stood unsteadily to pour himself another.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before Abigail stopped screaming. Not long after, a tentative knock sounded on the door.

"Mr. Barrett?" Molly called softly. "Are you all right?"

He debated not answering again. He was still so angry with her for making such a stupid decision. But his care for her won out. "I'm fine, Molly. Leave me be."

Molly hung her head outside the door before turning to survey the mess that they had left. Mrs. Barrett had stormed out of the house some time ago, a bag in her hand.

"You can have him," she snarled at Molly before she left. Molly thought that she might be posturing. The woman wasn't foolish enough to leave a steady home. There was no way she would support herself.

She began to straighten the room as best she could, taking care with the broken glass and splintered furniture. They had fought ferociously. It had been terrifying to see.

Mr. Ambrose she knew and expected to be vicious. It was Mr. Barrett that had frightened her more. She had never before seen his face contorted into such an ugly expression of pure rage. He had moved so quickly; struck his blows with violent precision.

She began to wonder if all men were like Mr. Ambrose just beneath the surface.

After an hour of attempting to reconstruct the damaged room, she finally gave up. She'd cleared the broken shards of glass as best she could and was confident that no one would accidentally impale a foot on one that was missed.

She glanced towards the door behind which Mr. Barrett sheltered once more, and debated trying to speak to him again. She realized that, for the first time, she didn't want to talk with him.

This day had done nothing to ease her confusion regarding the situations she found herself in. If anything, the matters had only twisted into one dreadful mess instead of two separate smaller problems.

She wasn't sure if this helped or hindered the process of finding a solution.

Refusing to consider this any further, she moved past his door and made her way to bed.

* * *

It was around one in the morning when Wade realized that he should probably have the cut above his eyebrow stitched, as it had yet to stop bleeding.

Granted, it was down to a slow trickle at this point, but still oozing some blood here and there.

Sighing heavily, he downed one more drink and slowly made his way to Molly's room.

He knocked and shoved the door open, greeted with her sitting on her bed wide-eyed. Before he could say anything, her hand went to her mouth. "Oh…" was all she could say.

"Think you could stitch me up?" He asked, suddenly exhausted.

"Yes," she replied after a moment, pulling back the blankets and sliding out of the bed. "Yes, of course."

She reached for her robe to cover her nightgown, but he stopped her. "No need. Shouldn't take long."

She glanced at him, obviously doubtful, but left it where it was.

They moved to the room that had been set up as the infirmary, and she guided him to the seat. She studied his face for a few moments before returning with antiseptic wash, tweezers, thread, and a needle.

"You still have some glass in your face," she explained. "I'll be as gentle as I can, but it may hurt."

He nodded stoically, and she went to work.

It hurt like a bitch.

He winced several times before grasping the arms of the chair tightly and exhaling sharply.

"I'm sorry," she said with true regret. "Almost done."

When she had finished, the antiseptic wash came. He wasn't sure which hurt worse, and he heartily cursed his mother in several creative ways until the stinging faded.

Giving him barely any time to recover, she moved on to stitching the worst cut, the one directly above his eyebrow.

As the rest of the sting faded away, he became acutely aware of how close she was to him. Her breasts were only inches from his face, barely covered by the nightgown she was wearing. Without conscious thought, he reached out and put his hands on her hips.

She paused, but continued on after a moment.

He watched her chest rise and fall until he heard the gentle snick of the scissors, signifying that she had closed the wound and was cutting the thread.

"Molly," he said thoughtfully, keeping his hands on her, "why were you with that man today?"

She froze. "I suppose his asking so politely for my company caught me off-guard," she admitted. "I think that's why I said yes."

"Did you enjoy your time with him?"

She paused, considering the question. "Yes," she finally answered. "Yes, I did."

He glanced up at her. "You do realize that he's up to something."

She looked away briefly. "That's what I'm afraid of," she sighed. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "That I don't know. But I'm sure it's nothing good." He paused. "Look at me." Her eyes swung back to him. "I won't let him hurt you."

His hands had started stroking over her hips, inching lower with each motion.

"I know," she nodded, looking uncomfortable. Still, he didn't stop.

"Don't see him again," he said firmly. "Nothing good will come of it." He pulled her closer to him and rested his head against her chest, listening to her heart beat against his ear.

"Much like nothing good will come from this," she said warily, although her hand came up and began gently running back through his hair.

" _All_ the good in my life comes from this," he replied, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

They stayed in that position for several moments, arms wrapped around each other and hearts aching from being so close. Both had the same fear of getting carried away, of taking things too far, but neither verbalized it.

"Molly," he finally said reluctantly, pulling away and lightly stroking his hand over her cheek. "Go on to bed. Unfortunately, I believe I'll have to put you to work tomorrow."

She nodded and turned away without another word. She didn't trust her voice to not betray her sorrow.

Watching her retreating figure, Barrett couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't lost the fight after all.


	24. Chapter 24

Wade Barrett surveyed the room around him with little amusement.

His head was still pounding from the beating he'd taken and painfully inflamed from small pieces of glass being ripped out of his flesh by tweezers late last night. This did nothing to help improve his mood as he looked at the physical property damage caused by his fight with Dean Ambrose.

The mirror was, of course, beyond salvage. There was no glass left in the frame. The table beneath it, which had contained a vase and a few pictures, had splintered and was leaning precariously against the wall. The coat rack had been thrown into the wall behind it, leaving a gaping hole that gave a handy view of the studs holding the house together.

He was pleased to see that those, at least, were in good condition.

With a heavy sigh, he reached up to haul the mirror off the wall, attempting to ignore the aching in his shoulders and back.

He'd really overdone it yesterday. A wry thought of just how old he was getting popped into his head, and he pushed it away quickly. He was still young enough to handle his business appropriately. That was all that mattered.

"What in the hell happened here?"

He turned to see Sheamus' incredulous face in his doorway. His mouth fell into a perfect, gaping 'o' when he caught sight of Wade's face, which was not a pretty sight this morning.

"Everything's fine," Wade said, trying to reassure him and also keep him from yelling. He knew Molly was still sleeping and wanted her to get as much rest as possible after he'd woken her to stitch him up last night. "I had an altercation with Mr. Ambrose yesterday evening."

"Who got the worst of it?"

Wade glanced around him. "My front hall," he replied.

With the assistance of the large Irishman, he was able to remove all of the broken furniture and place it outside for removal. While they worked, he attempted to fill him in on the general picture of what had happened with Ambrose.

"Why on Earth is he after Molly?" Sheamus asked, puzzled. "He's said many times that he has no interest in being settled. Even hinted around the notion that that was why he left the States."

Barrett shrugged. "I don't know. Truthfully, I'm not sure if he's even completely aware of his motivations."

Sheamus was quiet for a long while. "Molly's smarter than that, right?"

"I believe so. We discussed it last night."

He wanted to leave it at that, and he thought that he'd be able to for a short while.

"If…you know…if it comes down to needing someone to marry Molly, I'd do it."

Wade glanced up and saw that Sheamus was resolutely refusing to look at him, his face bright red and his focus unusually intense on the mangled table they were carrying out.

"I don't know that it will come down to that," he replied, "but I'll keep you in mind if anything should change. You would be a good husband."

"It'd be easy to be a good husband to a woman like her."

"Don't get stars in your eyes and go all soft on me now," Barrett replied good-naturedly, a small grin on his face.

"Me? Soft?" Sheamus scoffed. "Nah. She's just a good woman. They're not easy to find."

"No, they're not," Wade agreed, thinking of his own wife.

Sheamus must have known the shape of his thoughts. "What does Abigail think of all this?" He gestured around the damaged furniture.

"I don't know. She left last night. I can only hope she won't be back."

Sheamus nodded slowly. "That might be best for everyone involved," he agreed.

"Which means, of course, that it won't happen," Wade replied, attempting to put an amused grin on his face and keep his tone light, in spite of the gnawing fear he had that he was absolutely correct.

* * *

Molly awoke, startled, when a hand clamped over her mouth and a soft kiss fell on her forehead.

She turned wide-eyed to see a sullen Mr. Ambrose lying in the bed beside her, stripped down to his shorts.

He was certainly the worse for wear this morning – his nose was obviously broken, his eyes ringed with two black bruises as a result. The worst of it appeared to be a nasty gash on his left cheek, to which he'd made no attempt at first aid.

Gently, she reached out and touched the wound. She wasn't sure if she should still stitch it up or not at this point.

"Are you going to yell?" He asked tiredly, his voice gruff. She noticed the bruising around his neck at that moment.

She shook her head, and he pulled his hand away. "I need to clean your face up," she said when she was able, attempting to stand up immediately. He held her down with a firm arm around her waist.

"You're not going to say a word about my presence. Do you understand me?" He asked, his face set in hard lines.

"I just want to help you," she answered calmly. "That's all. I don't need to see the two of you fight again."

He studied her for several minutes before nodding slowly and letting her up. "Molly," he said when she reached the door. She turned back to look at him. A ghastly approximation of a smile curled on his lips. "It's much nicer to watch you sleep from the bed instead of through the window."

She froze, stunned. This seemed to amuse him. Blushing fiercely, she turned and left the room without another word.

She tried not to think about yesterday or last night while she gathered the supplies she'd need to take care of Mr. Ambrose's injuries. She was trying to push away her uneasy thoughts of how frightening Mr. Barrett had been in his anger, and uneasy worries about Mr. Ambrose's true intentions towards her.

She thought that if she could simply have a day where nothing out of the ordinary happened, she might be able to breathe and think through all of these issues. Unfortunately, it was a luxury that she was sure she wouldn't be afforded.

Refusing to pity herself for her much improved, if not still undesirable, situation, she returned to her room with bandages and antiseptic wash.

She wasn't looking forward to this.

Steeling herself, she put Mr. Ambrose in the chair by the window for the best light and set to work.

He muttered curses under his breath when she began cleaning his face, at one point gripping her wrists tightly to stop her hands.

"Please let go," she said quietly. "You're hurting me."

"And what you're doing tickles," he hissed, but his hands loosened their hold. "Just get this over with."

She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him that that's what she was _trying_ to do. She tried to remember that he was in pain and obviously not himself, but she wasn't sure how accurate that statement truly was.

Finally, she finished by applying a heavy bandage to the cut on his face. It had started to heal on its own already, and she elected not to stitch it as a result. That decision may have also had something to do with wanting him out of her room that much more quickly.

"It'll take a few days for everything to heal properly," she said, stepping back from him. "Try not to get hit in the meantime."

"What sage advice," he snapped, standing up and putting his hands on her shoulders. "Now get undressed and get back into bed. I still require your assistance."

She moved slowly, pulling off her nightgown and settling into the bed. He stood over her, staring for a few moments.

He was in a powerfully bad mood this morning, and even his little Miss Molly was doing nothing to quell that mood.

"I don't know," he said slowly, "that I'll be able to be nice to you today."

He enjoyed the rush of fear that filled her eyes, although he knew that he should be careful. He'd made such good progress, and the wrong move now would undo all of his hard work.

The anger festering in his chest made it nearly impossible for him to listen to that logic, and he reached out for her with the intention of pulling her up by her hair.

The fear in her burned out and was replaced with absolute resignation.

That was the first thing that made him pause.

He knew, in that moment, that he had already won. She would do anything that he asked of her, including becoming his wife.

That stopped his hand, and after a brief moment of consideration he pulled it back.

If he antagonized her now, she might fight back. She might lose that fearful wariness that had become such a huge part of her compliance, and he would have to start the process all over again. Except this time the process might be longer and much more difficult.

He needed to contain his temper.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, attempting to control the rage rattling through his very core. "You have been nothing but kind to me this morning. You deserve much better than the treatment I've been giving you."

She looked suspicious, and rightfully so. He forced what he hoped was a natural-looking smile on his face. "It's not often that I let anyone see the dark side of me," he said truthfully. "You, unfortunately, have been special from the start. I'm afraid it's made me think – wrongfully so – that I have some sort of license to treat you differently." He paused and licked his lips, amazed at what had just tumbled out of his mouth.

Her face had softened a bit. Taking this as a good sign, he sat on the bed beside her and covered her hand with his. "I'm going to try to be better about that," he said. "I'm going to try to be nicer."

"Why?" She asked slowly. "Why bother?"

He looked away. "I like you," he finally admitted. "I realize I probably lost my opportunity to make you believe that I'm a good man. But I still feel that I need to try to convince you." He glanced back at her, a small smile bringing out the dimple in his cheek. He brought his other hand up and lightly stroked her hair out of her face.

"Who knows," he continued. "If I'm successful, maybe both of our lives will be better for it."

"I very much doubt that," a voice said dryly from the doorway.

Ambrose cursed his luck as he stood and turned to regard Mr. Barrett.

* * *

He was pleased to see that Barrett was just as battered as he was. He was displeased to see that the red-headed Irish oaf was behind him.

Molly pulled the blankets over her bare skin, embarrassed beyond measure. No one seemed to notice.

"What are you doing in my house?" Barrett asked, his fists clenching tightly.

Ambrose pointed to the bandage on his face. "I couldn't find Doc. Molly was the only other person I knew capable of patching me up."

Barrett studied him with a sneer. "And you're both in various states of dress because…?"

He knew that he shouldn't rise to the bait. But his mood was still dark enough to override his sense of logic.

"Because I was hoping I'd get to fuck her," he replied smartly.

Wade crossed the room quickly, his hands reaching out for Ambrose.

"Slow down now, lads," Sheamus interrupted, stepping in between the two of them and firmly placing a hand on each man's chest to hold them apart. "Nothing good is going to come out of you two tussling again. Separate corners."

"Sheamus," Wade said through clenched teeth, "butt out, mate, before I hurt you."

"One thing we finally agree on," Ambrose spat.

"No. I'm serious, now. You've done this once and nobody won. This time won't be any different. There needs to be a better way to resolve this."

"Yes," Ambrose agreed. "Let me marry Molly like both she and I want."

"No," Barrett replied.

Sheamus glanced to Molly, who was looking back and forth between the two men, wide-eyed, while she clutched a sheet against her.

"Let's discuss this somewhere else, like proper adults." He nodded towards Molly. Barrett's temper ratcheted down several degrees when he saw the shock and fear on her face, but Ambrose didn't even glance in her direction.

As a result, Sheamus kept his hands on him and pulled him out of the room instead of Wade.

Wade stared at her for a few minutes, his temper cooling. "Why was he in here?"

"He-he needed his face looked at," she replied honestly.

"Did you invite him in?"

"No."

"Why didn't you call for me when you found him here?"

She looked at him helplessly. "He needed to be bandaged. I couldn't leave him like that."

"Why did you undress for him?"

She fell silent, her cheeks turning so red that they were nearly purple. He sighed heavily, worrying his tongue over his teeth. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his anger towards her was rising incredibly.

"Get dressed and meet me in my study. We apparently have quite a bit to discuss if you'd like to continue being employed here."

She immediately looked ill, and he had a moment of spiteful satisfaction from those words before he spun on his heel and left the room.


	25. Chapter 25

While Molly was bracing herself for the worst, resolving not to cry, Ambrose and Barrett were staring at each other from across the dining room table.

Sheamus sat in between the two of them, wondering how in the hell he'd gotten into the position of peacekeeper today.

"All right," he started slowly, recognizing that he was in unfamiliar territory. "Lay it out. What, exactly, is causing the strife between you two?"

"You need to stay out of my house, and stay away from Molly," Barrett said immediately.

Ambrose grinned. "She doesn't want me to stay away from her. Have you not realized this yet?"

"I don't care what she wants. This is my house, and she will abide by my rules."

He leaned forward and studied the older man. "Is there a particular reason you're so attached to having her here? You didn't want her at first. Why has that changed?"

Barrett's mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments. "I don't see what that has to do with our current situation."

"It has _everything_ to do with our current situation." Ambrose paused. "Have you been taking advantage of her?"

Barrett blinked, visibly stunned. "Are you out of your mind?" He roared. "If anyone has been taking advantage of her, it's _you_. She and I discussed you at length, Mr. Ambrose. And while I'm not entirely sure _what_ your motivations are, I know that they're not benign."

Ambrose leaned back, lacing his fingers over his chest. "Molly and I have been intimate in some ways," he admitted. "She's enjoyed every moment." The lie slid from his lips easily. "My intentions _are_ benign – I want to marry the girl. I do believe if I were to ask, she would agree."

"I believe you're wrong," Barrett growled, his expression dark.

Sheamus watched this exchange with profound surprise. He'd expected that the situation with Molly was merely a front for a deeper issue, and that if they had any quarrel it would have been over Abigail. Barrett had never truly forgiven either of them for their affair. He realized that this new situation was probably bringing old resentments to the surface, which only intensified their anger towards one another. He knew, at that moment, that the only way to solve this issue would be to put time and space between the two of them.

It had worked once. He hoped it might work again.

"Listen, there's no way we can work this out today," he interrupted just as each of them was primed to start yelling. "You both need some time to figure out what you want, and figure out if the struggle is worth it."

"Oh it's worth it," Ambrose muttered.

Sheamus ignored him and turned to Wade. "Talk to Molly. Get to the bottom of this." He turned back to Ambrose. "You're coming with me to Ireland for two weeks. Friend of mine is starting a new ring and needs some talent to get things rolling. You'll be compensated well. Go home and pack a bag; I will be there to retrieve you in half an hour."

Wade glanced at Sheamus, surprised. "You're leaving?"

The Irishman nodded. "It's what I came to tell you this morning, before all this."

"You will be coming back?" Wade asked slowly, selfishly thinking that this was simply just what he needed this morning.

"Yes. I'll return with Mr. Ambrose, and we'll all go about our usual business." 'I hope,' Sheamus added mentally, although he could sense that the disaster created by this situation would only be delayed, not halted entirely.

He feared that there would still, in the end, be Hell to pay.

* * *

Barrett refused to let Ambrose say goodbye to Molly, stating firmly that he would inform her of his whereabouts.

He didn't trust the man for a minute, but he knew better than to attempt to pick a fight. He was still in rough shape from the previous night, and he certainly wasn't about to fight two men for the privilege of saying a temporary goodbye.

He had determined already that it _would_ be temporary, no matter what Mr. Barrett's thoughts on the matter might be.

He angrily threw clothing into his suitcase, his mind working furiously as to how he could recover the ground lost from this new development. He gave up, slamming the lid shut, when he realized that he was simply far too angry to be rational.

"Don't think you've won, Wade," he snarled to himself. "Don't you dare think that for one moment."

Barely sparing a glance around him, he hurtled down the stairs and into the street to await the beginning of his exile.

A mere four blocks away, Wade Barrett paced in his study.

Molly should be here by now.

Impatient to speak with her, he threw open the door and made his way to her room. He didn't bother to knock, merely shoving open her door.

He stopped short when he saw her sitting on the bed, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shaking.

Hell.

The anger that had been building up in him deflated immediately, and he went to sit beside her. She didn't move until he'd wrapped his arms around her shoulders, flinging her arms around his neck and crying into his chest.

"I'm so sorry," she managed to say through her sobs.

He rolled his eyes, irritated with himself for being so spiteful earlier. "You know that I couldn't have you leave, right?" He asked, lightly rubbing her back. "You know that I want you here."

She seemed to calm after he said that. Eventually, all the noise in the room died down to soft, infrequent sniffles.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," he finally spoke when he was unable to bear the silence any longer.

"I deserved to hear that," she replied, her voice sounding hollow. "You told me to stay away from Mr. Ambrose. I didn't listen."

He gently pulled her away from him to look into her eyes. "Why didn't you listen?"

Her lips started quivering and she looked away briefly. "Do you care for him?" He pressed.

"No," she finally said in a low voice. "No, I don't care for him. I just…" she bit her lip. "I like the things he does to me."

His heart sped up before dropping in his chest. She must have noticed some small change in his expression.

"Does that make me a terrible person?"

"No," he replied immediately. "It makes you a human being." He sighed heavily and took one of her hands in his. "There's no shame in enjoying things that are supposed to be pleasurable. I just really wish that you wouldn't enjoy them with him."

She managed a small laugh. "So do I." She debated on saying the next words that came out of her mouth. "The man I really want is unfortunately unavailable."

He closed his eyes, a pained expression falling over his face. "He is," he agreed. "He wishes that he wasn't."

She nodded, fresh tears coming to her eyes. "I know. But, regardless, these are the circumstances we find ourselves in. I need to do my best to continue on with my life."

"Does continuing with your life mean eventually marrying Mr. Ambrose?" He asked bluntly.

She looked away. That was all the answer he needed, and just the one he'd feared.

Unable to tolerate this for a moment longer, he abruptly stood and left the room.

* * *

Wade thought about the situation he found himself in for a very long time that day.

He and Molly maintained separate spaces in the house, each of them staying out of the other's path.

Finally, when she came to call him to dinner, he settled on his course of action.

"Wait," he said as she turned to leave. "I want to talk to you."

Wary but resigned, she turned back and tentatively stepped towards him. "What would you care to discuss?"

He closed the distance left between them and put his hands on her shoulders. Staring into her eyes for a moment, he bent and pressed his lips to hers.

After a moment of this friendly sort of kiss, he parted her lips with his tongue and felt a wave of unbridled desire sweep through him when she began to kiss him back.

His hands wove through her hair and he pulled her closer to him for a brief moment before she moved away.

"What are you doing?" She asked tiredly.

He reached out for her again, crushing his lips against hers. This time he allowed his hands to wander over her – down her sides and then back up to lightly run over her breasts. Her nipples hardened beneath his fingers and he ran his thumbs over them in a circular motion several times, barely containing a smile when she began to return his kiss with greater intensity.

She wrenched away from him again, her eyes full of reluctance. "Wade…." She said gently, her tone full of admonitions.

"All right," he sighed, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa. They sat in silence for a few moments before he worked out how to begin.

"I hope that it's obvious how much I care for you," he started quietly. "I know that it's totally improper and I've tried to talk myself out of my feelings since the first night you arrived. I'm married, no matter how unhappily – and I refuse to ask you to compromise yourself by being my mistress. But what if I wasn't married?"

She held her breath for a moment. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath. "My wife has had several affairs since we were wed – Mr. Ambrose is counted among those men – and now she's run off. I have ample grounds for divorce."

The words hung between them for several moments. "Would you actually go through with it?"

"Yes," he said immediately. "I love you too much to simply stand by while another man takes care of your needs, needs that I have dreamed about fulfilling every night since you came here. I love you too much to let you walk away, to let you walk into the arms of a man who will only hurt you in the end when I could have stopped being such a blind idiot and improved both of our lives tenfold." He paused. "I love you," he finished simply. "No matter what other words I say, those are the ones that matter. I love you."

* * *

"Please," she whispered frantically, pushing her hips towards him.

He nearly complied with her request before his better senses took hold and, instead, he slid back with a pained groan.

The disappointment was evident on her face, and he was sure that his own was reflecting the same emotion.

"Not yet, darling," he said gently, bending to kiss her and using all of his effort to keep from pushing forward and making a liar of himself. "There will be plenty of time for that once we're married."

With a Herculean effort, he moved away from her completely. It had been such a long time since he'd touched a woman intimately. The fact that the woman in question was actually Molly, who had haunted his less gentlemanly dreams for some time now, seemed to only intensify his need. He had found himself partially inside of her before he truly realized what was happening, and further found that he didn't give a damn for propriety.

It was only when he'd finally encountered resistance that he'd stopped. And even then, with her whispered plea, he nearly continued onward.

He sensed that being this close was a dangerous proposition, but found that he didn't care. He'd spent too much time overthinking all aspects of their relationship, and he'd nearly lost her as a result.

It wasn't going to happen again.

Desperately needing a distraction, he grabbed her legs and brought them up over his shoulders before burying his face between her thighs.

He used his mouth with a sense of urgency, unable to slow or stop himself until she was trembling against him, her legs thrashing against his ears while her hand wove its way into his hair and tugged at the strands.

Finally, as her shaking ceased, he pulled back from her and pulled himself up to his knees. He watched her for a few moments, smiling at the thought that those fluttering eyes, those perfect breasts that rose and fell with each respiration, were his.

Gently, he ran his erection through her lips, amazed that he was still hard. She pressed her hips towards him again, another quiet plea falling from her lips.

It was almost his undoing.

"Be careful," he murmured, pulling away from her again. "If you keep asking, I won't be able to say no one of these times."

She grinned in wicked amusement and her hips surged towards him once more, her mouth forming those words that were driving him insane. "Please?"

He stared down at her, both amused and frustrated by her boldness. "You're cheeky," he laughed, bending down to kiss her. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of kissing her.

After several more satisfying variations of play, including one delightful moment in which he found himself in her mouth, they both collapsed onto the sofa they'd been occupying for hours.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him and kissing her again and again. She nestled into his body, more contented than she'd ever been in her short life.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" She asked, tracing a pattern on his bare chest.

"No, love," he confirmed for the third time that evening, plucking her hand off of his chest and kissing it gently.

"This is real…you and I…."

He smiled. "Molly," he said, bringing her chin up so her eyes met his. "I love you. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to stop being a hard-headed idiot about it. I'm going to marry you, sweetheart, and we're going to have a long and happy life together. We're both going to have the life we deserve."


	26. Chapter 26

Two weeks had been entirely too long for Dean Ambrose.

He'd been able to beat the tar out of some arrogant Irish bastards who thought they knew how to fight, he'd been able to drink himself into a stupor and have a few quick tumbles with some local lasses. It still wasn't enough to calm him. Nothing would be. Not until Barrett stopped this nonsense and Molly married him.

Sheamus had asked him, drunk one night, why he wanted Molly so badly. Ambrose had told him to mind his business before he broke his nose, and the Irishman had backed off immediately – but it was a question that stuck with him regardless.

He saw something in her – a toughness that wasn't in most women. She might hide it well by being soft-spoken and obedient, but he'd seen that brutal part of her. He'd even been on the receiving end of some of that brutality.

Partially, he was curious about where such anger came from. He supposed that might have been why he'd had so many women attracted to him over the years – perhaps they wondered the same about him. Mostly, however, he wanted her because he knew that she could handle him. No other woman had instilled that kind of confidence in him before. He was certain that she could take him at his worst and still walk away. Bearing scars of battle, yes, but walking.

He liked that.

At the end of the day, wasn't that the only reason he needed to have? He liked her enough that he wanted her around for the rest of his life.

They made it back to London in the very early hours of the morning, and Ambrose decided that he didn't want to wait another moment to see Molly. Even if it was simply to watch her sleep.

He dropped his suitcase off at his house and walked the four blocks to Barrett's house, grateful to be home and looking forward to getting his life started.

He made his way to the small window in the kitchen that had been his means of access for some time now, prying it open and stepping in quietly. He made his way to her room, feeling easiness settle on him for the first time in weeks.

She wasn't there.

He stood in the doorway, puzzled, for several moments. Her possessions were still there. Glancing at the desk, he saw her diary open.

Hoping for some hint, some clue as to where she might be, he picked it up and read it by the moonlight.

"Mr. Barrett…Mr. Barrett…Mr. Barrett…Wade…Wade," he murmured darkly, flipping through the pages until several words jumped out at him and pushed his heart into his throat.

He knew that he should leave, and he should leave before he did something he regretted. Instead, he slammed the book down.

He needed to see. He needed to be sure.

He crept into the study. No one there. The blankets and pillows that had adorned the sofa to serve as Barrett's bed were gone.

Turning his attention to the stairs, he moved up them as quietly as he could – it hadn't been too long ago that he'd needed to be perfectly silent as he went to or from Abigail's room, and his memory served him well. There was one tense moment where Barrett coughed and he'd taken a misstep as a result, but the creaking beneath his foot went unnoticed after several minutes and he continued on.

He paused outside of the bedroom door, asking himself if he was sure he wanted to see this. Asking if he was aware of the kinds of consequences there might be for him losing his temper.

Biting his lip, he pushed the partially-open door all of the way to the wall, taking care that the knob didn't actually hit the wall loudly enough to make a sound.

There, on the bed in front of him, was the confirmation of his suspicions.

Molly and Barrett were both beneath a sheet, but it was easy to see that they were undressed. He was on his back, arm wrapped around Molly. She was on her side, pressed against him tightly.

Ambrose stared for several minutes, taking in all of the painful details – her breasts resting on his chest, her legs crossed over his. Her hair spilling over his arm, the one holding her so tightly.

He closed his eyes, and he could still see the two of them.

He knew that he had to leave then, or things truly would become dire. His fists had clenched so tightly that he could feel blood beginning to well and spill over his fingernails, his teeth had bitten his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Still attempting to move quietly, he left the house with greatest speed possible.

He paced and drank all night, throwing empty bottles into the fireplace and loving the musical tones of the glass hitting the stone. He tried to ignore the anger building inside of him and think logically about how to adapt to this new situation.

After passing out for several hours, he awoke with a blinding headache in the bright light of afternoon…and he knew what he had to do.

He showered and dressed carefully, forcing water down his gullet so he felt less nauseous and his mouth tasted less like stale booze and cigarettes. Once he was moderately more lucid, he slowly began to walk towards the Barrett house – but he did not stop. He continued on for several more blocks and knocked on the door of a well-kept brick building.

"Abigail," he said charmingly when she answered the door. "I'm afraid I need to bother you with a request for a favor."

* * *

Wade Barrett awoke after another joyous – if not physically torturous – night of sleeping beside the woman he loved, entirely unaware that they had been visited for the third night in a row by an increasingly-agitated Dean Ambrose.

He glanced down at Molly and smiled, bending to kiss the top of her head. She mumbled in her sleep and nestled deeper into his side, her hand lightly stroking over his chest before she pitched back into her slumber.

He held her for a few minutes more, staving off the day ahead. Although, truthfully, his days hadn't been nearly as desolate as they were before.

Finally unable to delay any further, he gently disentangled himself from her and made his way downstairs to make coffee. He thought he might surprise her with breakfast as well – it had been some time, but he was certain that he'd remember enough to fumble his way through it.

He was pouring his first cup when his wife bustled in.

He stopped, frozen in absolute shock, and nearly dropped the mug before proceeding to pour hot coffee all over his outstretched hand.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," he cursed heartily, putting both mug and pot on the counter before sticking his hand beneath the faucet and running cold water over it.

"So lovely to see you too, darling," Abigail replied dryly.

"What are you doing here?" He snapped, grabbing a towel to wrap around his hand.

She regarded him coolly. "This is my home."

"The home you abandoned several weeks ago without a word as to your whereabouts," he replied. "The home where you entertained several gentlemen in a manner that broke your marriage vows." He looked at her with a hard expression on his face. "This isn't your home any longer. Leave."

She laughed, a light tinkling sound, and looked at him with great pity. "Oh, darling," she replied, shaking her head. After a brief pause, she continued. "And where is Molly this morning?"

He could feel his face flushing, but he refused to answer.

"Is she…in her room?" His wife gauged his face. "No. Is she…hanging laundry in the back?" He glared angrily at her. "Let me guess. She's upstairs, in our marriage bed, undressed and sleeping off the effects of her evening with you." She tilted her head. "You're a fine one to talk about our marriage vows, are you not?"

"What do you want, Abigail?" He growled, feeling his fists clench tightly by his sides. He had never before hit a woman, but he thought he might make an exception today.

"I simply want to be back in my home with my loving husband. I had a lovely trip away to visit family, and now I've returned."

"You're lying."

"Prove it," she replied sweetly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. "I will get a divorce," he finally said.

"No."

"I didn't ask for your permission. I'm merely telling you what I've already decided."

"I would reconsider that course of action if I were you," she replied, daintily taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"And why is that?"

"You have no proof that I've had a few…indiscretions. However, I caught you in a rather compromising position with our servant girl. I'm quite confident that a young thing like Molly wouldn't have the good sense to keep herself from spilling the details of her grand love affair. Perhaps in a diary of some kind?"

The smugness on her face irritated him beyond measure. She knew that she had him by a rather delicate part of his anatomy.

"The courts won't look too kindly on that, wouldn't you agree? You'd have your divorce, of course – but you'd be left destitute and with a reputation far too broken to ever rebuild." She paused to let these words sink in, and after a fashion she smiled.

"Go get that bitch out of my bed," she said sweetly.

* * *

Wade ascended the stairs numbly, his brain still whirring in a vain attempt to process this new, horrific development. He tried desperately to think of a way through this situation, to think of a way to appease Abigail and allow them to part peacefully. In those few moments, he came up with no possible solution.

His thoughts centered around one depressing fact – he had been so close to having his happy life, so close to giving Molly the life that she deserved.

It simply wasn't fair.

He was surprised to find himself standing over the bed already, standing over her, reluctant to shake her awake and bring her into this nightmare reality.

In the end, he did it anyway.

The smile she gave him when she saw his face upon waking broke his heart. "Molly," he said, his voice grave as he sat on the bed beside her. "There's something we need to discuss."

Her face immediately became somber, noting the flat inflection in his tone. His entire demeanor said that he was, quite suddenly, a broken and defeated man. Molly felt her heart begin to race with fear. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

The expression in her eyes was too much for him, and he looked away. "You need to get up and get dressed," he said. "Bad news is always better handled in clothing."

The silence in the room was palpable after these words left his lips. "Just tell me," she whispered. "Please."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Repeated that process several times, searching for the words to say that would minimize the severity of the trouble they were in. He could find none, and then the opportunity was taken from him.

"Is she up yet?" His wife finally yelled up the stairs.

Molly's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. "No."

He nodded. "I'm afraid so."

She hesitated a moment, confused as to why, exactly, this was bad news. She would finally be able to move her things out of the house and leave the two of them in peace. There would be a final, absolute resolution. It should have made him happy. "Did you tell her about the divorce?"

Suddenly, he felt as if he couldn't breathe – an iron fist squeezed his chest tightly. "Get dressed. Meet me downstairs," he managed to croak, standing abruptly and leaving the room.

His reaction had been enough for her to know that this was a serious issue, and that things had somehow changed. Feeling as if she was moving underwater, Molly dressed and made the bed automatically. She never wanted to leave this room; she wanted to pretend that things were going to continue on the way they had been for the past two weeks.

But she knew that this was impossible. Glancing around the room one last time, some small part of her knowing that she'd never see it the same way again, she descended the stairs and into the anticipation of the worst pain of her young life thus far.


	27. Chapter 27

Abigail felt a rush of satisfaction staring at the two lovers sitting before her, one still in his shorts and the other in a rumpled dress that had obviously hit the floor in haste the previous night.

Things were happening just as she'd hoped they would.

She'd meant it when she told Molly that she could have Wade. Truthfully, she hadn't cared for her husband…well, ever. But he'd been a fun distraction, and stupidly noble enough to marry her when she thought she'd been carrying a child.

The fact that she hadn't been was her greatest relief and also the source of her greatest misery. If she'd been intelligent enough to wait it out, she wouldn't have been trapped in a marriage with this boring stiff of a man. She could be out enjoying her life.

This turned her ambivalence for him into absolute hatred. One of the few things that Abigail had in common with Dean Ambrose was that she wanted to make those she hated suffer in the most devastating way humanly possible.

She could think of no better punishment to inflict on her husband than a broken heart, and Dean had graciously handed her the golden opportunity to do so.

She simply couldn't pass it up.

"I certainly hope," she started slowly, relishing every hateful word, "that you two children have had fun playing house while mummy was away. But playtime is over now, and it's time for your guest to leave." She gestured towards Molly. "It was a mistake bringing her here, and I'll be damned if I let you continue flaunting a relationship directly under my nose. My kindness in that regard led us here. I won't repeat the same mistakes."

"She's not going anywhere," Wade said stubbornly, reaching over and covering Molly's hand with his own.

"Oh yes she is," Abigail snapped. "Unless you want me to sue for divorce, my darling, and leave you with nothing."

"Go ahead," Molly spoke up. "All we need is each other."

Abigail glanced at Wade's face, at the shame and embarrassment on it, and laughed. "Sweetheart, what a perfectly lovely sentiment. A sweet, naïve, ridiculously foolish sentiment. Look at my husband." She paused, waiting for Molly to turn towards her lover. "Look. He doesn't share your feelings on the subject."

Wade wouldn't meet Molly's eyes. She felt her heart sinking into her stomach. Slowly, she pulled her hand away from his. He still refused to look at her.

The realization was swift and harsh, if not entirely misguided. He was choosing material comfort over her, the woman he claimed to love. The woman he had promised to leave his wife for…the wife who was now, conveniently, standing in front of them forbidding them to be together.

She felt like an absolute fool. How she'd not seen that he'd only been using her all this time astounded her, and in that moment her heart shattered completely and irreparably. Her eyes went wide, filling with tears, but she refused to cry. Not in front of _her,_ and certainly not in front of _him_.

"Now dear," Abigail said, her voice an approximation of kindness, "we won't simply send you out into the cold. We'll find a suitable husband for you, one who won't mind that you've been slightly…used."

"Sheamus is a good man," Barrett broke in, his voice hollow. "He's expressed an interest in…." He couldn't bring himself to say her name. "He just managed to have a successful run in Ireland," he continued. "He'd be able to pay her father's debt in exchange. I'll speak to him."

"You're selling me," Molly said flatly. "You're selling me just like my father did."

"No," Wade said gently. "I'm trying to give you a better life."

She heard his words, but believed none of them. All men were the same in the end. They were violent, drunk creatures who took what they wanted from you and passed you along to the next one when you'd outlived your usefulness to them.

In that moment, she resolved to never trust another man. It only ever brought pain.

* * *

Dean Ambrose paced rapidly across his house, waiting for some word from Abigail.

It had been two days since his return, two long days of waiting for her to strike and cleave Barrett from Molly. Two days of drinking and avoiding the Barrett household while the other inhabitants were awake, lest he lose his temper.

He had, however, gone to watch the two of them sleep. The first night he told himself it was to ensure that it hadn't been a one-time occurrence, or that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He'd stood by the bed, motionless, for a half-hour before he'd had to leave.

Dreams of putting a knife in Barrett's chest had necessitated that hasty exit.

The second night, he forced himself to stand and watch longer – perhaps an hour. He needed to be calm and rational about this relationship when it came time for Molly to be his, or he'd punish her rather unfairly.

He had, after all, committed his own indiscretions in Ireland.

He was quite proud of this chain of thought, as he was being far more generous and forgiving than usual. He thought that perhaps Miss Molly was getting a good man as a husband after all. As long as she behaved appropriately from here on out, of course.

Finally, after what felt like weeks of waiting, there was a knock on his door in the early hours of the evening. He practically sprinted to it from the other end of the house, wrenching it open with barely-contained excitement.

He was rewarded by the sight of the coyly-smiling redhead. "Is it done?"

She nodded. "Little Molly is sobbing in her bedroom at the harsh reality that my husband favors money over supposed love, and my darling Mr. Barrett has gone off to discuss the terms of marriage with the Irishman."

The first part of this pleased him greatly; the second part angered him beyond measure. "What?" He hissed, reaching out to grab her by the shoulders. "The Irishman?"

"Yes, the Irishman," she snapped, reaching up to remove his hands from her. "What is the problem?"

"She's supposed to marry _me_ ," he replied, pinching his fingers on the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the oncoming headache. This hopeless cow couldn't get anything right.

"You, the Irishman, what does it matter?" She shrugged. "She's not with Mr. Barrett. That was the only request you made of me. Perhaps if you'd seen fit to let me in on the entirety of your little plan, I could have steered things differently for you. But you didn't, and now my part to play is over. So figure that out for yourself, my dear."

He grinned wryly at her, although he felt like wrapping his hands around her throat. "You really are a bitch, Abigail."

"One of the qualities of mine you always seemed to admire," she replied airily.

"I admired your tolerance of my many perversions and your pussy, darling, nothing more," he retorted angrily. She had taken him from the height of joy to the depths of a snarling, black rage. "You are a useless child, and if it served me well at all right now I'd snap your neck and fuck your lifeless corpse."

He shoved past the stunned, shaking woman in his doorway and quickly made his way to Molly, hoping that he wasn't too late.

Once again, it would seem that he was the only person in this world he could rely on to do things the right way.

* * *

He expected Molly to still be in her room when he arrived. He was immensely surprised to see that she was up and walking, vainly attempting to continue on with her usual chores. He had a moment of pity for what he'd done; she looked as if she was a corpse who had yet to hear that she was, in fact, deceased and had returned to continue the hollow activities of everyday living.

"Molly," he said gently. She turned her dead eyes to him, tear tracks down her face.

"Mr. Ambrose," she replied, attempting to suppress a sniffle. "I didn't realize you had returned. Welcome home."

"Are you all right?" He asked, taking two short steps towards her. All this time plotting and planning, and when confronted with her he didn't know exactly how to proceed.

"I…I'm not feeling terribly well today, I'm afraid," she replied with a feeble smile. She was aware that lying was pointless; she was obviously distressed and he would only persist if she insisted that she wasn't.

"You should be in bed, then." He reached for her arm, and she allowed him to take it meekly. They began walking towards the room that would only be hers for a short while longer. She tried not to think about that, desperate to keep further tears at bay.

"How was Ireland?" She asked instead, not caring about the answer but needing a distraction.

He shrugged. "Green. Occasionally red. I missed you terribly." A small smile fell on her lips in spite of her mood. "Did you miss me?" He asked.

"I missed your brashness," she lied. "It was exceedingly dull without the constant wonder of what was going to come out of your mouth next."

He grinned, and after a moment she found herself pinned lightly against the wall beside her door. "Really?" He murmured, lightly taking her hands in his. "At the moment I'm more interested with what will be _in_ my mouth next."

He kissed her roughly, inserting all of the frustration and desire he'd felt the past three weeks into his lips. It was positively dizzying.

She pulled back after a moment. "I can't," she said, her eyes still closed. "I'm sorry."

The anger that had been threatening to boil over all day reached its very limit. "Of course," he replied, attempting to tamp it down. "You're not feeling well. How inconsiderate of me." He paused, stroking lightly up and down her arms, finally stopping with a gentle grip on her wrists. "But _why_ aren't you feeling well?"

She looked at him, confused. "Does it have something to do with being married off to an Irishman after a bloody fool of an Englishman broke his promises to love you for the rest of your miserable lives?"

She fell silent, completely stunned. "How did you know about all that?" She finally asked, swallowing hard – her throat had suddenly gone bone-dry.

He bit his lower lip and leaned closer to her. "When it concerns you, my darling," he said in a low voice, "I'll always find out."

He kissed her again, his mouth harsher this time and his teeth nipping painfully at her lower lip.

"Please," she whispered when he pulled away, "please don't."

"Please don't," he mocked softly, tightening his grip on her wrists. "You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions, Miss Molly." He smiled at her, a smile that looked entirely natural, even as he was slightly shaking his head back and forth. "You can't just go on and break a man's heart and expect to walk away from him unscathed. Especially when that man is me."

* * *

"Now listen," he said sternly as he undressed her, "I don't want to fight. I don't want to have to hurt you or tie you up or gag you again. I just want us to enjoy one another." He paused and glanced up at her face. "Do you think you can do that?"

All he received in reply was a blank stare, and he took that as agreement.

He bent and kissed her neck, scraping his teeth against her skin before lightly sucking on the delicate flesh. She tasted just as good as he remembered.

His hands found her breasts, the reassuring weight of them in his palms making him forget everything else outside of this room, outside of her, and how right it felt to be here with her once again.

Molly, however, only felt a growing sense of wrongness.

She closed her eyes and attempted to simply let things happen. She had no will to fight, no will for a prolonged struggle. She had asked for this not to happen, and he had refused that request. It seemed that was all the energy she could muster for a resistance.

She listened, detached, as his breathing grew increasingly labored. She could feel him becoming aroused and tried to shut out the suddenly intrusive memories she had of her time with Wade. He knelt in front of her and took one of her nipples into his mouth, lightly sucking while his fingers began to play between her thighs.

Her body responded perfectly well to this attention, even as her mind was focusing all of its power on keeping her emotional pain at bay. The moment his teeth sunk into her breast, however, she was immediately present and slapped him hard in the face before she truly realized what she was doing.

She expected him to be angry, but the small smirk on his face led her to believe that he'd expected that response.

"Stay with me," he said firmly. "I understand you're probably in pain and you simply want all of this to go away…but it's not going to. I am here. You need to be here with me."

She shook her head, fresh tears coming to her eyes. "I can't," she said in a pained whisper. "Please. I can't do this."

He lightly touched her cheek. "You're just going to have to," he replied. "It's been two long weeks without you, and I can't wait any longer."

He shoved her towards the bed then, pushing her down onto her back. He undressed quickly, tossing his clothes behind him and letting them fall where they may, before climbing on top of her.

She was mentally prepared for him to continue touching her with his fingers, or to use his mouth. She was even prepared to perform the same acts for him.

She was not, however, prepared for him spreading her thighs and slowly beginning to push himself inside of her.

"No," she balked, pulling away from him and attempting to sit up. He shoved her down immediately and placed a forearm roughly over her throat.

"I'm afraid I'm not able to give you a choice this time, my love," he murmured, pausing in his forward momentum. "If things had gone according to plan, maybe this could have been different for you…could have been better. Unfortunately, these are the circumstances we have, and we must work with them."

With those words, he thrust completely inside of her.

* * *

The pain was unbearable for several moments. She tried to scream, but it only came out as a choking, sputtering coughing noise thanks to the placement of his forearm.

She heard him chuckle vaguely through the pain-induced haze that had become her mind. "I see Mr. Barrett was enough of a gentleman to save you for your future husband. How noble of him."

"Get…off…of…me," she muttered, the words sounding harsh and guttural.

He regarded her calmly. "When I'm done." He forced a smile onto his lips and bent down to kiss her lightly. "The damage is already done, darling. You might as well just lie back and let me finish. I'm not going to stop until I do, and I can either make it bearable or make it hurt more. That decision is yours."

These few moments without movement were severely testing his self-control. She felt positively divine; tight walls squeezing against him, gripping him in all the right spots, forcing his mind to repeat one overarching thought over and over again – simply _move_.

When she said nothing, that's precisely what he did.

He tried to be gentle at first; he tried to move slowly and be sweet to her. He even took his forearm away from her throat, allowing his hands to wander over her face and breasts in a desperate attempt to stimulate her.

He gave that up when he saw the tears running down her face.

It made him unreasonably angry. Yes, she might have been in some sort of emotional pain. Yes, he was certain he'd surprised her with this bold move. But he was right here, attempting to do something out of character and be nice for a change, and she couldn't even be bothered to pretend that she appreciated it.

He rested his body on top of hers then and began to move with more urgency, began to thrust a little harder, a little deeper. She whimpered in pain, and he felt a savage sense of joy rush through him. So he increased his efforts. And then increased them again.

And then again.

The little bed was slamming violently into the wall, his mind a muddled mixture of anger and lust and pleasure and loathing while he moved inside of her.

He gripped her hair tightly in one hand, pushing her head to the side to allow him access to her neck. He bit her there with no remorse, smiling at the racing pulse pressed to his lips, delighted at the cry of pain that escaped her mouth.

"You," he panted, "are making it very difficult for me to not be disappointing." He punctuated this statement with a rough thrust, one that made her bite her lip and tears fill her eyes again.

"Tell me you like this," he purred in her ear. "Tell me this feels good."

She was silent, defiant. He could barely keep the smile from his face as he slapped her. "Molly," he said warningly. "Don't make me hurt you."

"I…I like this," she whispered.

"Speak up." He paused in his thrusting. "I can't hear you."

She closed her eyes. "I like this," she said, her voice dull and without inflection.

"Why do you like this?"

"Because it…feels…good."

"Very good," he murmured, bending down to kiss her and beginning to move again, this time more slowly. "Do you see what happens when you cooperate? I can be nice. I _want_ to be nice to you."

She started sobbing. "Please just finish. Just get this over with."

That blackness that had been swirling around his head for the past several days took hold in his chest again, and his hands wrapped tightly around her throat before he gave it any conscious thought. "Don't _tell_ me how to _fuck_ you," he snarled.

"I'm sorry," she said desperately. "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, trying hard to tame the beast that had burst through his chest. He released her throat and without a word began thrusting into her roughly again, burying his face in the nook of her neck and inhaling her scent, forcing pleasant memories of their previous dalliances to the forefront of his mind.

He could feel himself falling over the edge and he held her tightly while he did, gasping and panting while the physically satisfying but mentally joyless orgasm spilled out of him and into her.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was the sound of her soft sobbing. It irritated him to no end.

"Shut up," he snapped, rolling off of her. "I won't be able to sleep with you crying like a child beside me."


	28. Chapter 28

Molly lay awake for several hours, trying to keep herself quiet lest Mr. Ambrose wake again.

He had pulled her into his arms in a gross approximation of intimacy and fallen asleep with his chin on top of her head, his arms still clutching her tightly.

She felt disgusting, both physically – an unbearable stickiness had settled between her thighs – and spiritually. He had taken the last thing she'd held dear in this world, the one thing she had to offer a man who might treat her with respect and decency.

Now she was no better than a whore.

In fact, she briefly considered the life of a brothel worker while lying there with Mr. Ambrose draped around her. It might be preferable to be paid to have a man use you. In a way, there was power in such action – it was owning yourself, owning your own body, and only allowing those you deemed worthwhile to share it.

She certainly didn't feel any sense of power right now, and so this was the fantasy she clung to. She clung to the hope of having a choice, because the choice had been taken from her today in a brutal and heartless fashion.

Every nasty thought that she'd had about the nature of men had been confirmed for her today.

A not-unsubstantial part of her mind wondered what would become of her now. Would Mr. O'Shaughnessy still want to marry a woman who was more than 'slightly used,' as Mrs. Barrett had put it? Or would he reject her as being too damaged?

She found herself hoping that the Irishman with kind eyes wouldn't be like the others. But she quickly pushed that thought away. Of course he would be. Trying to believe anything else was only a recipe for further heartache, and she refused to subject herself to that kind of pain again.

Mr. Ambrose began stirring beside her, and she quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. After several minutes, she felt the light touch of his lips on her forehead and he carefully began to move away from her in the bed, eventually departing it entirely.

She heard him rummaging through his pants and, after a fashion, heard the strike of a match and smelled the new scent of tobacco smoke. She kept her back to him, praying that he would dress and leave after his cigarette.

Her luck was simply not that good today.

He came back into the bed, this time on the other side, and curled himself around her back. "I know you're awake," he said in a low voice. "You should try to get some rest."

She was quiet for a few moments, an internal debate on whether or not to answer him at all raging in her mind. "I'm not tired," she ultimately replied.

"You're exhausted. I can't imagine this has been an easy day for you."

She closed her eyes tightly. She desperately needed someone, anyone, to talk to about this – but she wasn't sure she could bring herself to confide in the man who had just forced himself on her.

"What's going to happen to me?" She eventually asked in a choked whisper, unable to contain that harrowing thought for another moment. "What happens to me now?"

"I'm going to marry you," Mr. Ambrose replied, the surprise evident in his voice. "Darling, that's what this has been all about. Barrett would never allow me to marry you otherwise. He forced my hand."

She closed her eyes as tears – of relief? Of fear? – spilled onto her cheeks.

Mr. Ambrose's hand came up and stroked through her hair. "You and I will be happy, Molly, I promise you. Just give in to me. Surrender your doubt and your fear, and I will make your life easy and blissful."

Easy. Blissful. It sounded wonderful.

"I don't have to love you?" She asked, knowing that her battered heart was entirely incapable of such an action.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Truthfully, my sweet Molly, I do believe that love is something I'm not quite capable of. Just respect me and obey me, and you will have a good life. I promise you."

She considered his offer for several minutes before nodding slowly. Surrender doubt, surrender fear, obey, and respect. It was a list of commands she was sure she could follow, and it took away the painful options she had been considering.

After the decision was made, she slept peacefully until the morning light streamed in through her window.

* * *

Wade knew that the time had come to confront Molly and tell her that Sheamus had accepted his offer – quite joyously, actually – and that they would be wed within the week.

His heart, however, felt like it was forged of steel in his chest when he thought of performing that action, of saying those words that would make things so final.

He hated Abigail more than he'd ever hated another human being…but she had him, dead to rights. He wouldn't survive with a tarnished reputation, and it wasn't a life he'd subject Molly to. So that left him with the painful option in front of him.

She was young. Her heart would bounce back and flourish. She might even grow to love Sheamus, in time. She could be happy.

That was truly all he wanted. Her happiness.

Attempting to keep that thought to the forefront, and discarding selfish thoughts of his own pain, he rapped his knuckles on her door. And waited. And rapped again. And waited.

Frowning, he pushed the door open to see a sight that immediately made him nauseous – Dean Ambrose, wrapped tightly around Molly as they both slumbered peacefully. Blood had soaked through the sheet at the mid-level of the bed, and he had a horrifying notion of what had happened.

Ambrose yawned and stretched, blinking a few times before smiling at Wade. "Good morning, Mr. Barrett," he said pleasantly.

Molly's eyes flew open.

"What is this?" Barrett asked, attempting to keep his temper in check.

"I couldn't wait another moment to see Molly," Ambrose replied blandly. "We had a wonderful reunion, and…well, would you like to tell him, darling?" He smiled at Molly encouragingly, annoyed when her eyes filled with tears and she said nothing.

"She's agreed to marry me. Isn't that wonderful news?" He was beaming, relishing the dark red flush that was falling over Barrett's features.

"Molly," he said after several moments. "Is this true?"

She glanced down at her lap before glancing up at him again, anger and defiance in her face. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, I'm going to marry Mr. Ambrose."

Wade dropped his head and closed his eyes against the rush of tears. He'd driven her to this. "Are you sure?" He asked hollowly. "You weren't forced into this decision?"

"I'm sure."

The conviction, the anger in her voice – it stunned him into agreement. "I wish you both nothing but happiness," he said quietly. "Molly, you may stay until the wedding if you find that appropriate. Mr. Ambrose, congratulations. You have a wonderful woman."

That was the extent of his good nature. He quickly left the room, refusing to look back.

* * *

Molly felt a savage sense of joy as she watched Wade leave. It dissipated nearly the moment he shut the door behind him and was replaced with a deep sense of despair. She suddenly struggled to breathe, trying desperately to hold back tears.

It was done. It was really and truly done.

She expected a harsh response from Mr. Ambrose, but for a change he said nothing for several moments.

Finally, he placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to stay here?"

She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

He stood and began searching for his pants, eventually finding them halfway under the bureau. He searched his pockets for the keys to his house before finding them and handing them over to her.

"Get dressed and head…home," he said, the realization hitting him suddenly in the chest. It felt quite good to say. "I will pack your things and bring them back with me."

She nodded, although her eyes were far away. He sat beside her again for a moment and placed a light kiss on her forehead.

"You made the right decision," he said in a low voice, resting his chin on her shoulder. "There was no other way for you to have a happy ending to your story. Do you really believe that I would have left you and Mr. Barrett alone?"

He paused, waiting for an answer. Not receiving one, he continued on.

"You may not see it now, but what he did was for the absolute best. Your life has been fraught with fear and disappointment. That will _never_ be the case again. You've lived through the worst fear and the worst disappointment imaginable." He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly. "Don't you see that, Molly? The man broke your heart, but you're still here. You've survived. You are, in fact, breathing."

He fell silent for a long while, simply holding her while she considered his words.

Gradually, she turned to face him. He wasn't surprised to see that she had been crying silently.

"Darling," he said gently, trying hard to keep himself from smiling at how ridiculous he sounded, "this pain won't last."

After a long while, she nodded. "Thank you," she whispered, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before looking away.

He kissed her again, this time on her temple. "Get dressed," he said in a low voice, "go home. Sit in a warm bath – it will help with the soreness – and sleep if you'd like. I'll be along shortly."

He waited for her to nod in agreement before letting go, moving away to get dressed himself and begin the process of packing her things.

Molly moved slowly, letting his words reverberate through her. The pain seemed absolutely unbearable…but he was right. She was still breathing. It hadn't killed her, although in moments she truly wished it had.

She stood and was amazed at the sudden influx of a stabbing, achy pain between her thighs. She glanced at Mr. Ambrose's back curiously – how had he known that she would be sore? And further, how did he know how to calm such an infliction?

It was only a brief thought before she began to consider, once again, the strange course that her life had taken over the past day.

She had willingly agreed to marry Mr. Ambrose. It was still a difficult concept to believe. The man who had taken her from her home, had frightened her, and had hurt her beyond measure…she was going to be his wife, and all of her own choosing.

She glanced at him again, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head. A wisp of a thought entered her head, a gentle string that said this man surely must have a depth to him that she didn't yet understand. Immediately, she shook it out of her head. Expecting that the man wasn't brutal to his core would be a very dangerous mistake.

She'd made enough dangerous mistakes in the last several weeks – her shattered soul reminded her of that – and so she pushed herself into the naïve promise that she would never make another dangerous mistake again.


End file.
